I
HEN MARJORIE
REMEMBERED
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“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.