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About Bandon recorder. (Bandon, Or.) 188?-1910 | View Entire Issue (June 4, 1903)
I HEN MARJORIE REMEMBERED W , , I > 1 CupvrfaM. tour, bg tAe 3. 8. Mc( tors Company < , < > : “lou didn't know—you runny, at>- seutminded lioy not to tbat next Sat urday's Christinas! Christmas, do you bear. Marshall Graham? To think I bad to tell you! And tbe children com ing just In time! Those people—where they are, you know”—the puzzled look in her eyes-"must have planned Just right. They must have remembered Christmas If you didn’t, forgetful boy I'm so thankful—why. Marshall Gra ham, what kind of a Christmas would It be without the children? And that makes me think of the rest of it. That's tbe secret, and now what I want you to do ls-can’t you guess?" She tilted her bead and looked at him archly. He made a brave attempt at smiling and shook bls head. “Can’t do it, ma’am. I'm not aa good a guesaer as I am a fergetter.” “Well, then, take your wife out in tbs sleigh to choose a Christmas tree.” she cried. "That’s what. You took me last year and tbe year before—and before— and before—uh. most back to tbe flood! Did you think you were going to get off this year? Not a bit of it, sir! We’ll go right after lunch—way out in tbe country, you know. I’m going to be very particular to get a fine one this time.” She chattered on too busily to notice tbe look of pain on the little man's face. When she glanced at it, it was smiling again bravely. They went right after lunch. Tbe sun was shining, and a smart little wind sent a flurry of light snow into tbelr faces, and Marjorie laughed at It Tbe cutter sped along out of tbe city Into lovely snow christened country roads. “I’n> so happy, dear boy,” Marjorie said. “There’s so much to be happy over! The children coming home—isn’t tbat enough to make a mother feel happy? Oh, but you don’t know—you can’t think, dear, how I’ve been miss ing them! How could you know, when you’re nothing but a man, poor boy? It's different with mothers— There, you needn't look so grieved, dear! Of course you’ve missed them too." “Yes; I’ve missed them, too,” tbe lit tle man said steadily. “Elsie and the girlie twins are bad enough.” ran on the sweet voice in bis ear, “but, oh, the baby! You can’t think bow I miss that little peck Qf mischief, Marshall! It makes me ache. I keep all his horses and things lying round to keep me patient till he comes. I don’t see—I can’t understand”— “Isn’t tbat a good tree? Look, Mar- Jo!” Marshall Graham interrupted quickly, pointing with bls whip, and the little crisis was past, They bent tbelr attention to the choice of a Christ mas tree after tbat, and nothing more was aald about tbe children coming home—the little children that never would come. The tree was found at last that suit ed Marjorie, that bad straight enough, symmetrical enough, low enough branches and was Just big and Just little enough. She was very hard to suit, “for,” she Insisted gently, “it must be a perfect one this year; Just a per fect one, dear boy." It was marked plainly and tbe local ity distinctly noted, so on the morrow tbe man could go after It, and then in tbe early, crisp winter twilight they rode home. The next afternoon Marjorie sat by her window, absently watching tbe lit- ■ sà .' ' Gue, two, three— three or them K »ru. aud the little one's a boy!” She sat up. uiihlly excited, Llttls red spots blossomed out iu her white cheeks. Just four and Just—almost— the same sizes! Then she bad au In spiration. * “Oh. yes. they'd know!” she cried. “They’d kuow everything!” i She raised tbe window a little way aud called dowu to them in her clear, sweet voice that “carried” distinctly: “Little children! Little girl—you old est one. won't you please come over here and see tue a little while? I want to ask you something.” Tbe children stopped tbelr play and looked at each other with round, as toulsbed eyes. “Oh, my!” said Nip excitedly. “Oh, my!” said Tuck. Nip and Tuck always said the sums things. "Let’s go tell mother,” advised Ann Sophy wisely. “I'll ask my mother, mu'am,” she called up to tbe eager face at the window. “Mother! Mother!" they all chorused. “The queer lady wants us to go over there an' see her. She called us out o’ the winder—honest, she did! She wants to ask us somethin'." “Yes,” Ann Sophy recapitulated, with slow emphasis, “honest” “Well, of all things!” ejaculated Mrs. Cooper in amazement. “I declare! Well, I s’pose you’ll go. She's harm- leas. and they say she has to be hu mored. But you’ve got to cleau up. Anu Sophy, you scrub the baby’s face. Nip, you braid Tucky’s hair over again —smooth, mlud you, and you may tie her best ribbon on. Hurry!” After a good deal of hurrying and smoothing down and washing up the small Coopers went in a solemn little procession to tbe queer lady's. She was watting at the frout door. “Come right in!” she said eagerly. “And you’d better take off your things.” “Oh, no’m!” Ann Sophy cried hur riedly. “We couldn't. We only had time to clean up outside. Keep your mittens on,” she whispered in a shrill aside to Nip aud Tuck. Mrs. Graham pointed to chairs, but Ann Sophy arranged them in a straight line, side by side, before they sat down. Then she seated them gravely accord ing to sizes, herself at tbe head and the baby at the foot. They sat up primly and folded all their gay little mittens on th ir little shabby laps. The baby’s i it. abbreviated legs stretched straight out before him and barely reached the chair’s edge. “Now, ma’am?” Ann Sophy said ex pectantly, taking a last sidewise view of her line of parade. “What do you want for Christmas?” asked tbe queer lady. The question was so abrupt, so unex pected, that a row of little gasps broke forth unmutiled. Ann Sophy swallowed hard. “Ma'am?” “What would you like best? Tell me all the things,” the queer lady's sweet voice hurried on earnestly. She was too absorbed in her own thoughts to see bow surprised and how wistful the little faces all were. She hardly no ticed them at all. She was waiting, pencil and tablet in band, for Ann Sophy's reply. “First, what?” she urged. “I want to make a ltot.” “Oh—oh!” Ann Sophy was too be wildered to consider clearly. Iler eyes sought her red mlttenB in her lap, and then in a flash she remembered the fervent ambition of her narrow little life. “Oh, a pair of kid gloves,” site cried, “with plenty of buttons, an' a book with pictures of cows an’ trees an’ country in it, an’ a music box, an’ side combs, an’ ”— Her tongue was loosened. She poured out her cherished dreams in a little turbulent flood of eloquence. The queer lady's pencil could hardly keep up with it. Then the others bad their turn. Ann Sophy had given them courage, and they stayed not upon the order of their saying, but ■aid it all with shrill enthusiasm. Even the baby expressed bto wishes fluently, if not clearly. On their way home tbe little Coopers talked It all over. “She’s a-goln' to give us a Christ mas!” shouted Nip in an ecstasy of de light. “8he's a-goln’ to!” echoed Tuck. “Hush! She’ll hear you!” Anu Sophy cautioned them, but her staid little face waa quietly radiant. She was al most ready to believe it herself. “I don't know; it looks kind of so,” she said wistfully. “Hub! Course it’s so! What's she want us all to choose things for. then?” ■nid Nip scornfully. “Yes, whnt'd she want us to for?” “Well, I don’t know; it kind of looks ■o—honest,” repeated Ann Sophy slow ly. “Hoor-ray! An’ we warn’t goln’ to have any Christmas before—not a single Y dear air”— Dr. Sperry beaitated and fitted bto finger tips to gether with careful precl- il m before be continued. "My dear air, It la one of tbe strange cam*», but it doea not stand alone In tbe records, I have known of otbera, a tew. quite parallel There to only tba ane -eatment.” “And that?" Interrupted tbe little man opposite, haggard with anxiety. “Is the one 1 have prescribed all along. There to no change.” Tbe little man, Marshall Graham, got on to bis feet aud began to pace tbe floor with nervous little runs. He plunged bls hands in bto pockets to bide their trembling. “We must humor her still, doctor?” he asked. “You mean that?" "You must humor her »till—1 mean that; 1 mean just that. Humor her— humor her. Believe wbat she believes, If you cau. If you can’t, make believe. I tell you”— The fitted Auger tips parted, and the shapely white bands came down re soundingly on the learned doctor’s knee. “I tell you. Graham, you’ve got to do it If you'd save her. It’s the only way In a case like hers, and, good Lord, man. haven’t I been studying these cases forty years? I tell you—I—tell— you”— One long forefinger timed the words on tlie other palm. Tbe doctor’s face was solemn. "She— must— be— humored! Any rude shock, any forced awakening, will be her death or something worse. She must awaken herself; she must come out of her delusion by herself, of her self, naturally and quietly.” "B-b-ut”— The little man's lips stammered helpleHsly. The rest of bto question would not ask Itself, but tbe doctor read It in bls anxious face. He got up and forced the little man Into a chair gently. Then he stood over him with bls big, square bulk and gave him comfort. “Mun alive,” be said, "are you going daft too? ’Will she come out of it?* That’s what you waut to ask, eh? Well, then, listen. I believe she will. I -believe -she—will. I believe there will be a quiet, uutural waking up of her owu accord when the time comes. But you’ve got to wait for It. You’ve got to watch over her constantly and see to It tbat no lubberlng Idiot breaks the spell of her dream for her. I told you wbat tbat would mean. You’ve got to wait, aud tbe Lord give you pa tience!" "It Is terrible—the waiting,” Mar shall Graham said slowly. "It to terri ble to see her so happy, doctor I” “Good Lord, mau, wouldn’t It be worse to see her miserable?” "In one way—in one way!” groaned the stricken little man. Tbe doctor settled back Into bis pivot chair and once more adjusted bls An ger tips precisely. “It’s an unusual case — an unusual case, my dear sir,” be sa!d in bls stilt ed. professional tone. “The shock was so severe, it is seldom one loses four children at a single blow. And then her terrible Illness that followed — It mi l>|M-d her constitution and put a tre mendous hindrance on nature’s meth od of cure. It ia only what you would expect—that the cure to delayed im mensely. Immensely. By the way, Graham, are tbe servants ail trustwor thy, eh?” He wheeled about and put tbe ques tion abruptly. Marshall Graham awoka from bls deep preoccupation. ‘Terfi'Ctly — every one of ’em. doe- tor.” he said briskly. “I can trust them down to tbe last lota. They are all devotedly attached to Marjorie—to “What do you want tor Chrintnuuf" Mrs. Graham.” »he atkea. "Good! That’s of tbe utmost Impor tie Coopers next door build a deformed tance. Humor her. do they? Fall In with ull her vagaries about tbe chil snow man. There were four of them, all sizes, and they all wore little stout dren?” Everything else they “All. Poor things. It’s terrible for red mittens. them too! They were all bo fond of the wore was old and worn and shabby, like tbe little Cooper house itself, but —tbe—little ones.” “Is the children's nurse still with ■11 the little mittens were dazzling and new. Mrs. Graham's eyes followed you?” "Roxy? Ob, yes—Mrs. Graham will them in unconscious fascination. She uot think of letting her go. She is wait had never noticed tbe little Coopers much before. Her own little children ing for them to come home.” The little man's voice broke pitifully. had never played with them. If she He caught up bls hat and hurried to thought of them and their small, shab by house at all, it had always been ward tbe door. “Good morulug, doctor,” be Mid over with gentle vexation because they bls shoulder. He shut tbe door behind were there at all, behind her own pre thing, Ann Sophy Cooper, ’cause the him. and bis heavy steps sounded tentious, handsome home. They were coal bin’s most empty.” “No. we warn’t—not a single, Ann So down tbe long hall. But Dr. Sperry tbe only blot on her pretty “view.” Today she was not thinking of them phy Cooper!” was at the outer door a second later "Hoor-ray!” snd called him back. Tbe big white really. She was trying to decide what "Hoor-ray!” right hand was held out to him. and things she was to get for the children's “I can’t help it—It looks kind of so,” when It got tbe little, nervous, tense Christmas. The decorations for the tree—of course those were easy enough; murmured Ann Sophy's wistful voice one in its grasp how It gripped! "Good day. Graham,” was all the but tbe toys! They puzzled her. baf •gain. doctor said, but the little man's heart fled her strangely. She couldn't seem The queer lady, left alone, was look was lighter In proportion to tbe tin- to remember— ing over her list. It was not altogeth "They’ve been gone so long, the chil er satisfactory. She was a little disap yllng of his hand, and be went away home with footsteps tbat raug Ires dren have,” she murmured wistfully. pointed. Some of tbe things were so heavily on the stone pavements. “That’s why But I should think I'd queer. If she could only remember— Marjorie Graham, his pale, sweet remember. I should think I'dkn’ow did children really want such things as wife, tnct him at tbe door. She was what Elsie’d like and the girlie twins those? holdlm: out both hands In welcome. "Well,” she said, folding the list and little Peck. Mischief—oh, I don’t “Oh. Marshall, have you come at see why I'm so stupid I can't remem- carefully, “I'll get all these things any- Inst’” «be cried. "And here Pre iraj, tnj perharc t-beyT nth "ber—i Can t ueciuel 0u. dean' waiting and wafting! You bad boy. to Roxy, tbe children’s nurse, came into era that aren’t so queer." stay so long!” She drew him Into the The few intervening days went past the room on an errand. Or was it to hall and blew the flecks of snow from ou swift wings. Marjorie Graham was make sure tbe children's mother was his shoulders and patted his face gen very busy and happy. The children quite safe? tly. He saw at once the look of de “Roxy," the children's mother said would come on Christmas eve Just in lightful secrecy on her face and steeled time to bang up their stockings, and hl in self far what he knew mint be abruptly, “did you ever have any little I meantime there was so much to do, so sisters and brothers?” coming. I many beautiful things to see to. “ Me, mem? I had a little brother Marjorie Graham was tall—half a T\vo days before Christmas Marshall i snee, but be di — be went away when i head above him—and delicately frail. Graham came home unusually early in Tbe rings of soft hair lying on her . be waa a baby,” tbe girl answered tbe afternoon. Twilight was just be brow were a I moot white, but ahe was * quietly. I “Oh, then you can’t help me! 1 ginning to rold in the merry Christmas very far from old. Her whole aspect world. He hurried up the steps. Roxy was happily expectant A stranger thought you might be able to reniem looking at her sweet, pleased facei bar. ”’?; ” v I let him in. would hare told himself she mart be I MarJ»ri* '*«,a »>« restless rocking | "Where to Mar—where is Mrs. Gra expecting some beautiful happening, *•*•* • l*Hle sign of dlsappoint- ham?” he asked anxiously. Tbe girl't pleasant, buxom face quiv ■nd the stranger would have been ’ meat. Then her eyes fell once more right. Marjorie Graham waa expecting on tbe little red mltteued tsind out ered suddenly. She pointed toward tbe her four little dead children to come side. They were Just putting on the parlor door. home In a few days. She waa getting snow man’s bead. The oldest girl was t I “In there,” she said huskily. Then ready for them. Only tbe rertleaa, wist holding tbe baby up to do It. Mechan she sank down on tbe stairs and broke ful eyes betrayed any mental disorder, ically tbe pale woman at the window into bushed sobbing, swaying back and ■nd even In them It waa hardly ap counted little cold blue noees. "Why.” forth and rocking her arma. she cried softly, “why, Roxy“—but “She's fixing the—tbe—It,” she sobbed parent to ordinary notice. “I’ve got a secret to tell you and Roxy was gone—“there are four of under her breath. Tbe little man braced himself as for Something I want you to do.” tbe swort them! There are Just four, and—why, they are aliuoet tbe same sizes tool a blow and went into tbe parlor. Mar voice cried gayly In hto oar. IWyi ;* * . Jorle came tn meet him with a laugh of triumph. “See, dear boy!” »be crl«d. "Isn't It lovely? U's «11 ready but lighting tbe caudles. 1 couldn't wait till Christmas to tlx it. You ««. I can keep tbe par lor door locked—tbe children won't know—and 1 can keep coming in to ad mire It. No; come over this side. There, that's the best view of It Now, you dear boy. say it’s tbe loveliest tree you ever saw. Bay It! Begin, ‘It's the loveliest' ’’— She waa darting In and out among the laden branches readjusting and re looplug. Her eager eyes shone like candles to him. “Say It dear boy! Why don’t you begin?” she cried gayly. And tbe lit tle man drew a long, sobbing breatb and said It as well as be could. It sat isfied her. She waa too preoccupied to think hto voice was stilted and strain ed. “Those little Cooper children helped quite a lot. I called them in. You cun't think wbat funny little things they .were! There, It’s quite, quite done. Tie my bauds so I won't touch another thing! And over here, see, on this sofa, are the stocking things—four piles. This little soft one’s Peck o' Mischief’s!” Tbe tears were ruunlng helplessly down the little man's face, but she did not see them. He kept bto head turned away. Four piles of toys were ranged In a prim row, and four little black stockings lay beside them, their limp lengths dangling over the sofa’s edge. Outside In the hall Roxy rocked her urms and cried tears uf honest love. That evening Marshall Graham called on Dr. Sperry again. He told the whole sad little story, and the kind hearted doctor hemmed and coughed and pol ished and repollshed hto spectacles. “My dear sir,” be began, then coughed aud tried again. “My dear sir, you must wait. Walt, and tbe Lord help you! I tell you there's nothing else to do. She must waken of herself. Shock! Man alive, could she waken without a shock? But it will be mercifully eas ier if it comes as naturally as possible. I tell you It will be the difference be tween life and death to her. You say she talks of not remembering? Just so. I believe she to going to remember by aud by. And it will come upon her geutly. I believe it You must wait.” “But Christmas, doctor?” “1 know—I know. It will have to come. But wait, wait. Tbe wakiug up may come too. If not in time, you must explaiu, prevaricate — anything to satisfy her.” And so, with hto heavy heart, the lit tle man went home. In tbe middle of the night be woke up in unexplainable terror to see Mar jorie coming in at the door with a lighted lamp In her band. She bad on a pale blue wrap, and In tbe dim light she looked too pale and frail to be em bodied. He sat up in bed and held out his hands. “Marjo! Marjo!” be called. And then, as she came nearer, be saw her face plainly. *‘Oh, Marjo!” For be suw that she had remem bered. He read It instantly In her face. In her sad, quiet eyes. There was no restlessness in them at all. She came up quite close before she spoke. The hand that held the lamp did not trem ble. It waa quite flrm when she set the light down beside him. “I went down to look at the tree, dear boy,” she said steadily, “and all at once I remembered. Tbe children are dead. They are not coming home to Christmas. Dear boy! Dear boy!” With a sudden cry she threw herself beside him on the floor, with her face In his arms, and cried the terrible, beautiful, life saving tears he had longed for. An hour—two hours—they never knew how long they lasted. It may have been but a short time. It seemed a 1 ng, long time to the little man. The first faint light of morning was creeping in to them when Marjorie lifted her face. It was swollen and stained with the blessed tears, but it smiled at him bravely. “Dear boy, poor boy, I am glad I re membered for your sake,” she said gently. “And—and we have each oth er, dear boy.” Christmas morning ushered in the most wonderful, tbe most glorious day in all tbe short lives of the little Cooper children. Their wildest hopes were realized, and though Nip said, “I told you so!” in gleeful triumph, for once Tuck failed to echo her. “You never!” she cried in scorn. “You never told me so, Nip Cooper. You couldn't have told It all if you’d been tellln’ me so ever since!* In the early evening, just at early Christmas tree candlelight—for Marjo rie would have It so—all the little Coopers formed in awed procession and crunched through tbe new snow to the queer tody's, and the queer lady met them at the door and led them into en chanted land. She was smiling down at them. Afterward Nip confided to Tuck that that smile looked just as if she was crying. “But she didn't look ‘queer’ a bit— not even kind of so," said Ann Sophy softly. STOPPING RUNAWAYS HOW THE NEW YORK PARK POLICE HORSE ENJOYS THE WORK. Tbs Steer •f a alarla«« Maa That Was Osly aa lasMaat la tbs Life st Skipper—A Mae« Tbat EaA.A la tbs Carters st tbe Baaawar Haas. How the horses of the New York park mounted policemen enjoy catch tag runaways, which to the moot excit ing part of their work, to told by Sewell Ford in “Horses Nine.” The author says of ids equine hero: For half an hour at a time be would stand Just on the edge of the roadway and at an exact angle with it motion less ns tlie horse ridden by tbe bronze soldier up near tbe mall, lteddy would sit as still In tbe saddle too. It waa bard for Skipper to stand there and see those mincing cobs go by, their pad housings all a-glitter. crests on their blinders. Jingling their pole chains snd switching their absurd little stubs of tails. But it was still more tantalizing to watch tbe saddle horses canter past in the soft bridle path on tbe other side of tbe roadway. But. then, when you are on the force you must do your duty. One afternoon as Skipper was stand ing post like this he caught a new note tbat rose above the bum of tbe park traffic. It was tbe quick, nervous beat of hoofs whieb rang sharply on the bard macadam. There were screams too. It was a runaway. Skipper knew thia even before be saw tbe bell-like nostrils, the straining eyes and the foam flecked lips of the horse or the scared man in the carriage behind. It was a case of broken rein. How the sight made Skipper’s blood tingle! Wouldn’t be Just like to show tbat crazy roan what real running was! But what was Reddy going to do? He felt him gather up tbe reins. He felt bls knees tighten. What! Yes, it must be so. Reddy was actually going to try a brush with tbe runaway. Wbat fun! Skipper pranced out into the road way and gathered himself for the sport Before be could get into full swing, however, the roan had shot past with a snort of challenge which could not be misunderstood. “Oho! You will, eb?” thought Skip per. “Well now, we’ll see about that” Ah. a free rein! Tbat is-almost free. And a touch of tbe spurs! No need for tbat Reddy. How the carriages scat ter! Skipper caught hasty glimpses of smart hackneys drawn up trembling by tbe roadside, of women who tum bled from bicycles into tbe bushes and of men wbo ran and shouted and waved their hats. “Just as though tbat little roan wasn't scared enough already," thought Skipper. But she did run well. Skipper bad to admit that She bad a lead of fifty yards before be could strike bls best gait Then for a few moments be could not seem to gain an inch. But tbe mare was blowing herself, and Skipper was taking it coolly. He was putting tbe pent up energy of weeks into bis strides. Once be saw be was overhauling her be steadied to the work. Just as Skipper was about to forge ahead Reddy did a queer thing. With bis right hand be grabbed tbe roan with a nose plncb grip, and with tbe left he pulled in on the-relns. It was a great disappointment to Skipper, for he had counted on showing the roan bls heels. Skipper knew after two or three experiences of this kind tbat this was tbe usual thing. Those were glorious runs, though. Skipper wished they would come more often. Sometimes there would be two and even three in a day. Then a fort night or so would pass without a single runaway on Skipper’s beat But duty is duty. A SLEEP FANTASY. The Coafaaioa a>* Abaardltiea That Coase to t's la Dreams. If you would know what stuff dreams are made of, read the following de scription of a sleep fantasy from F. Marlon Crawford’s novel, ‘‘Cecelia:’’ Sometimes in meandering through a maze of absurdities in which we feel as madmen must, believing ourselves to be others than ourselves. Conceiving the tows of nature to be reversed for our advantage or our ruin, seeing right as wrong and wrong as right in the pathetic Innocence of the idiot or the senseless rage of the ma niac, convinced beyond all argument that the absolutely impossible to hap pening before our eyes, yet never in the least astonished by any wonders, though subject to terrors we never feel when we are awake. Has no one even understood that confused dreaming must be exactly like the mental state of the Insane? Inanimate things turn Into living creature», the chair we sit on becomes a horse, the armchair to turned into a wild beast, and we ride a-hunting through endless drawing rooms, which are full of trees and un dergrowth, till the trees are suddenly turned into people, who dance and laugh at us because we have come to the ball in attire so exceedingly scanty that we wonder how the servants could Acrobatie Soldier*, Clever and skillful to a feat which to have let us in. frequently performed by Italian sol M m « That Beads. diers. Foreigners generally suppose “Firm as a rock,” “unbending az that it forma part of their drill, as they flint,” are phrase* often used; but as never perform it except when they are a matter of fact there Is a sort of stone in uniform, but it to really one of a that to as flexible as wooden fitter. It aerie* of cyrevvqe ex»’ri«e* which to of course very rars, -rnd the few Italian soldiers have for many years specimens known are now in museums. been accustomed to practice after their One of tbe finest to in tbe Hartley in- regular drill to over. The feat consists stitutlon, in Southampton, England, In piercing an object with the point of having been found near Delhi, India. a sword while the swordsman to In a It to lathlike In shape, about an inch most abnormal position. That it to not thick and two feet long. It to a partic easy to do this can readily be Imag ularly flexible specimen and can with ined. Indeed a soldier must practice the bands be curved several inches steadily for months before he can feel from the horizontal; otherwise It to sure of reaching the mark. Whether bard and mlneral-llke, having the grain the skill which he thus acquires will of ordinary gray sandstone. ever be of any practical use to him to doubtful; but, as it to rather a pastime Carl««* Death Cwetam la Fill. than a military exercise, the soldiers The Fijians believe that in case a never think of asking themselves this marriageable youth or maiden dies question. without having gone through with th* elaborate nuptial knot tying ceremony The Raatllaa. Airtight compartment ships were of the Islands hto or her soul to doomed suggested by an examination of the to wander about forever In an Inter nautilus. The shell of this prudent an mediate region between heaven and imal has several compartments into helL When any one dies, man, woman which air or water may be admitted to or child, a whale’s tooth to placed in allow the occupant to sink or float, as the band of the corpse, the missile to It pleases. Each chamber to occupied be throws at the tree which stands aa in succession by the animal. Aa it in a guidepost to point out the road that creases In sise it mores to a larger leads to heaven snd the one that leads to bell. chamber __ _______ I WHAT ADVERTISING CAN DO How Two Fort««ea Were Made la the Vai ted States. In 1886 P. T. Barnum. the great show ma up Journeyed to the Pacific coast to visit a relative. On hto way back eaat be stopped at Kansas City to see the great Barnum A Bailey show that was th'n exhibiting in that city. The then press agent of the Barnum A Bailey show, Bert Davis. Introduced to Mr. Barnum the editors of the local Mailles at the former's hotel. In the course of the conversation which nat- ■rally followed Mr. Barnum said: “Gentlemen, Mr. Bailey tells me that my preaeuce at the performances of the Barnum A Bailey circus is worth $5,000 a day to the show. If this is true. It la my name that to so valuable. It is known in every town, city and hamlet; it has become a household word throughout the country. Now, gentle men. all of this was done by newspa pers, and if advertising can make a name worth $5,000 a day, what to It that advertising can't do?” Before Peats, tbe wall paper man, died in 1902 he was at the head of a mammoth paper concern doing a busi- tiens of $15.000,000 a year. Yet in 1891 Peats was running a small establish ment for the sale of wall paper to the retail trade on Madison street, Chica go. What was tbe secret of his won derful advance In the wall paper busi- ness in comparatively so short a while? It was advertising. A newspaper man In 1802 indui'et! him to experiment with printers’ ink. The result was profitable. Peats didn't see that be could have too much of a good thing, so he increased hto adver tising appropriation and as his profits doubled he doubled his space in the newspapers and periodicals, and as bis advertising increased bls business grew. Thus be reached the enormous volume of $15,000,000 a year by tbe arithmetical progression of wideawake advertising. In tbe language of P. T. Barnum, himself one of the most ex tensive advertisers tbe world bas ever known, “If advertising can do this, what is it that It can't do?”—Detroit Free Press. Story of a Nlsht Hide oa Ksyptlaa Hallroad. an “You can travel with perfect safety on Egyptian railroads now,” said an English official, ‘‘but it was not always so. There were times when it required tact to save your throat from getting cut, as you will realize from a little ex perience that occurred to me. It was the fanatical outbreak of Just before I 1882. I bad beard some ugly rumors, but I had to go up by train one night from Port Said to Ismallla. I was the only European in the compartment, Soon after we started an old Arab sheik leaned over and calmly helped himself to a couple of cigars tbat were sticking out of my breast pocket. I knew what that meant, and I got a sort of cold feeling along tbe spine, for Just then I caught the gleam of a dagger in tbe hand of a man to tbe left of me. I said nothing, but, opening my bag. brought out a box of cigars and hand ed them round. Tbe Arabs emptied the box. I smiled affably and lighted my pipe, expecting every moment to be knifed. They were eight to one, and I was unarmed. Suddenly the old sheik reached from the rack a large melon he had placed there. Then he leaned across and, taking hold of the hand that held tbe dagger, brought It into view. Lifting it from the unresisting fingers of his fellow Moslem, he tran qullly cut two slices off the melon. He handed me one and proceeded to eat tbe other. Then my heart gave a Jump, and as I eagerly sucked at the fruit I knew I was safe, for we had eaten to- getter, But I didn’t get to Ismallla that night” “How was that?" inquired a listener. “Because,” said he, “they murdered the engine driver, the stoker and every other European in the train.”—Kansas City Independent Feminine Loffie. The pretty girl was looking out of the window as tbe trolley car pushed slowly up the bill past her house. The car was crowded, and a number of men were riding on tbe rear platform. Just as the car reached a point oppo site the girl’s house an attractive look ing box fell from the pocket of a very swell young man standing on tbe cur step. The pretty girl held her breatb until the car sped out of sight. Then she rushed out and grabbed the box. It was a pound of delicious chocolates. “I couldn’t stop the car, could I?” she said to her conscience. “And besides it was probably intended for a pretty girl and”—with a peek into tbe looking glass—“a pretty girl has it”—Pittsburg Press. A portene la a Clock, i OARO STOOK ...Straw and Bindern* Board... «4-H-5H-«' First Street Tei Male IM». SO BAN FRANCISCO. A Great Agency We Have Secured Control for Thia City of the Fulton Com pounds. the Only Thing« Known to Medicine That Cure Kidney Olaeaaea In Both the Primary and Secondary Stage«. The kidneys are not xetixi ti re and the d I tehee to aometlmee taeletied and already chrome a Uh the very Oral aympuma U it bee bun« an eight to ten mon the It to surely chromo la either case why lakeehanoeat Why not lake al Brat tbe only thins known tbat eurea kidney dlMaaetntbe ohronle aa well aa the primary ■taxes. The Fell oaae cited below, by pernito- ■lon. to «specially valuable, for it* Insurability was doubly eonUruted by oonsultlns pbyatclaua, and after recovery under the Fulton Compounds the recovery waa also doubly attested. Un May lat. IWN. tbe eon ot K. C. Pell, tbe maua«er ot the Paonia Coast Biscuit Company ot Second aud Folsom Blreeta. San I rant laeo. was declared by the family physician to havo chronic kidney diaeaR and Incurable Another Sbyeician waa called In and eonllrmed the Isqnoeto. The whole body was swollsn with dropsy, end s fatal termination looked for. The Fulton Compounds were then turned to as tbe only nope Ou September IS tbe dropsy hsd disappeared aud the boy waa wall, and after double examinations tbe physician declared the recovery oomplete end gave Mr. Poll a written report which he uow baa. Judge <1. A. Cabanixa, the Police Judge ot Ban Francisco, also attests the recovery under bis ewu observation of a friend of hie who also rouov, red when tbe case (obronio Bright a Dis- ea-te ot the kidneys) was well known to bo in curable nocordlug to all medical authorities. Up to tbe advent of tbe Fnllott Compounds medk-ine knew nothing that would cure kidney troubles after they became chronic. About uiue-teuths of all cases ars now curable, ven arter they have developed Into the dreaded chronic forms of Bright's Disease end diabetes. No statements are published or invited exoept from chronic oases that, like tbe above, ere In curable by all other known medicines. If your kidney trouble Is recent Fulton’s Rrnal Com pound will cure it quickly. If it Is of over eight to ten months standing It to tbe only thing known that will save your Ute. John J. Fulton Co., Washington street, San Francisco, sole compounders Fulton's Renal Compound for Bright's and Kidney Diseases, gl; for Diabetes, II A Free analyses made tor patients. Aeud tor pamphlet. Wo are the exclusive agents la Into city. Save the Baby. AN EXCITING INCIDENT The ' 1 The mortality among babies during the three teething years is som^lhirg frightful. The cenuua of 1900 shows tlat about one in every •oven fiuccumba. The cause is apparer t. With baby’s bones hardening, the fontanel (opening in the skull) closing up and its t^eth forming, ali these coining at once creaie a demand for bone material that nearly half the little The result is systems are deficient in. leevishness, weakness, sweating, fever, diar rhoea, bruin troubles, convriNloHs, etc that The deaths in 1900 under prove terribly fatal. .. ........................... three years were 304, »8«, to suy nothing of the vast number outside the big cities that were not reported, and this in the United States alone. When baby begins to sweat, worry or cry out in sleep don't wait, arul the need It neither medicine nor narcotics. What the little system is crying out for Is more bone material. Sweetman’s Teething Food sup- 2 j plies It. It has saved the lives of ; thousands of babies. They begin to improve withia Here is what physicians forty-eight hours, think of It. »st Washington St., San Francisco. June 2, 1902. Gentlemen—I am _ prescrlbinK _ . your food in the multitude of baby troubles due to im peded dentition. A large percentage of in fantile Illa and fatalities are the result of slow teething. Your food supples what the deficient system demands, and I have had surprising success with In set res of cases this diet, given with their regi iar food, has not failed to check the infantile distresses. Several of the more serious cases would, 1 feel sure, have been fata) without ft. It can not be too quickly brought to tn« attention of the mothers of the country. It ia an ab- solute necesslty. L. C. MENDEL. M D. Petaluma, Ca’., September 1, 1902. Dear Sirs ___ —I have _ just tried the teething _ food in two cases and in both It was a suc cess. One was a very serious case, so criti cal that it was brought to me from another city for treatment. Fatal results were feared. In three days the baby ceased worrying and commenced eating and Is now wel’. Its action in this case was remarkable. I would ad vise you to put It In every drug store in this city. Yours, I. M. PROCTOR. M. D. SwMmoi'i Teething Food wl'l carry baby aafely and comfortably thtouih he meat dan gerous period ot child II e. It r r 'era lanc ing of the gums unnecessary. It la the rarest plan and a blessing to the baby to not wait for symptoms but to commence giving It the fourth or fifth month. Then all the teeth will come healthfully, without pain, dis tress or lancing. It la an auxiliary to their regular diet and easily taken. Price W cents (enough for alx weeks), sent postpaid on re ceipt of price. Pacific Coast Agents. Inland Drug Co., Mills Building. Ban Franclaeo. Kaalea la the Teaaeseee Monatalae. There are many eagles in the Ten nessee mountains, and consequently there are many mountaineers wbo are expert catchers of tbe young eagles. These reap rich rewards in return for tbelr perilous risks and adventures, and some of them receive as much as $2,000 for a single year’s catch. The keen eyed hunters watch tbe nests un til tbe young are batched, and then, patiently waiting for tbe mother bird to leave in search for food, make quick work of the capture, while the mother bird to invariably shot to death upon her return to the nest and in her fren zied search for her young. Bolder hunters than these make their attack at night, while the less experienced use snares and nets, a method, however, in a majority of cases unsuccessful.—Inde pendent A man in Vienna possessed as an heirloom an old clock made early in the sixteenth century. He thought it was worth about $10. One day a strnn ger came and offered him $400 for it. Tennyson's Pipe. The owner suspected that if it was Everybody knows that Tennyson was worth that it might be worth more, so a great smoker. We notice that one of he investigated the matter. He soon re his pipes was presented by the house celved an offer of $4,000 for it and keeper at hto home at Freshwater to finally sold it to the Kensington muse Mr. Kelsey of Yarmouth in 1875. There um, London, for $20.000. to a tradition that when the poet had smoked a clay once he put it on one Aa AaeeAote at DaaukS. side and took a new one. This to scarce Speaking of Alexandre Duma», a ly borne out by the pipe in question, writer says that bis chief characteris which from its color must have been tic was bls utter disregard of money. smoked not ouce, but many times. It He vietfr tnUIJcns. but never had a T/as bought for s t-U'e not long since franc at bis command. “For example,” at a sale in the Isle of Wight by Mr. said be, “upon one occasion Dumas bad Spencer of New Oxford street It has Invited company to dinner, and. find suffered In the wars, having been bro Ing tbat be did not stand possessed of ken across the stem. It to now enshrin ■ single cent, drove to a friend's and ed in a glass case. -Westminster Ga asked him to lend him 2 louis. This his zette. ' friend readily did, and as Dumas was Cast I m . I taking bls leave suggested, as be bad ‘‘Well, bub, what to it?” asked the Just been getting some very fine pic kles, be would be glad to give him a jar druggist of the small boy with a bottle to add to bto dinner. Tbe servant was In hie band. “Please, sir, but here’s the medicine sent for the pickles, and when be put tbe Jar in tbe carriage, Dumas, having I got for me mother an hour ago.” “Yea, and wbat'e the matter with no other change about him. dropped itr the 2 louis in tbe man's band.” “You didn’t write on the bottle Wear Ceasba. whether it was to be taken eternally The traveler In India la surprised to er infernally, and she's afraid of mak see that men wear combe in their hair ing a mistake.”—Detroit Free Press. much more than women do. A Clnga T m Far to Walk. lese gentleman wears what we know Leading Lady (of defunct opera com as the circular comb and a very or namental back comb of tortolae shell pany)—I wonder if we’ll ever be able to gather his curly locks together. He to fly. Manager-Well, that's about the only wears a full beard also, but bis servsnt must trim his own beard and to only possible way we’ll ever be able to get home. allowed to wear the circular comb.