GAZETTE.
CORVALLIS
" '
SEMI-WEEKLY.
COBVAX.IiIS, BENTON COXTNTTX, OEEGON, TTTBSDAX, JANTJAEY 19, 1904.
VOL. IV. NO. 39.
IfO. ISO. I WMIWIHIIIM A "f ""
A
V
Second Cousin 5arah g
sr m avtmor or
"AltHB JUDGE, SPINSTER." "LITTLE MATE MIRBT."
ETC.. ETC.
CHAPTER II. (Continued.)
Sedge Hill was a staring edifice of con
siderable proportions, with an aspect cf
newness abont it that fourteen years had
not done much to soften. It had been
built to the order of the present proprie
tor, who had made much money by cot
ton stockings, and had risen from twen
ty shillings a week at the loom to the
splendor of his present life. It was a
new house to suit the new man who had
been lucky enough to get rich. There
were spacious grounds beyond, and there
was a big room at the side, that was new
to Reuben Culwick since he had last
stood in his father's house, and it was
this that he pulled up his horse to in
spect before turning into the carriage
drive.
Then he went rapidly along the drive,
drew up in front of the house, and step
ped lightly and briskly from the trap,
giving the reins to a rosy-faced young
man in livery, who emerged from come
stabling in the rear, to be of service to
the newcomer.
"Old Jones has gone, then?" he said to
the servant.
"Yes, sir. He's with Squire Black of
Holston."
"And you reign in his stead. Well,
we cannot all reign."
He knocked and rang, looking stead
ily through the glass doors the while.
Another new face a smart young house
maid, whom he had never seen before, to
replace Mrs. Perkins, who was stout and
sallow, came to the door and admitted
him. -
"Is Mr. Culwick in?"
"Yes, sir, but he's engaged just now."
"You will be kind enough to give him
my card?"
The maid servant took 'the card and
departed, and Reuben Culwick, like the
merest stranger, and feeling like a stran
ger, very doubtf ul of his reception, walk
ed up and down the spacious hall with his
hands behind him, and his hat in his
hands.
Presently the servant reappeared.
"Will you step this way, if you please,
sir?"
Reuben followed the servant along a
corridor to a door at the extremity the
door of the new room, he was certain.
"WHO ARE lOUr'
from his old remembrance of the house.
The door was opened and his name an
nounced, and he felt that he was passing
into a spacious apartment, the walls of
which were bright and rich with many
pictures, and the ceiling paneled and
massive, with ground glass in the panels,
for the proper transfusion of light on
Mr. Simon Culwick's "collection. When
Simon Culwick had lost his son Reuben,
he had taken to the "masters," ancient
and modern, and given them all the love
that was in his heart.
But it was not at the paintings which
enriched the walls that Reuben Culwick
gazed with so much of curious earnest
ness, but at the big broad-faced man sit
ting before the fire in a capacious leath
ern chair, and who was looking curiously
and steadily at him. There was a pret
ty, fair-haired young woman, in gray eilk.
sitting at the table in the recess of a bay
window, reading, and Reuben was con
scious of her presence that was all. She
rose not at his entrance, only looked to
ward him with a certain degree of curi
osity as he advanced, and then turned
to the pages of her book as he held his
hand out to his father.
"So you have thought of me at last,
have you?" was rolled out in a gruff bass,
as a large, white gouty-looking hand was
placed in that of his son.
"So I have come back at last," answer
ed Reuben Culwick.
"You can sit down," said the father.
"Thank you," said the son.
This was the meeting after five years'
absence the calm after the great storm
which had happened in that house five
years ago. This was the home that the
on had never liked, and that he felt he
did not like now, although he had come
to it of his own free will. There was
a pause, during which each man took
stock of the other without any particu
lar reserve.
"I got your letter," said the father,
"and I might have sent the carriage for
you had it not rained so much."
"The horses might have caught cold in
stead of me," said the son dryly; "but I
didn't want the carriage. I was glad that
I had not further to go last night than
Worcester."
He looked toward the lady in the bay
window at this juncture, and his father
noticed the wandering gaze, and paid no
attention to the hint which it conveyed.
"Well, what have you been doing?
' What do you propose doing now that you
are here? I suppose, after all that has
passed, you have no intention of sitting
down in the house and waiting compla
cently for my death and my money?" the
father inquired.
"You told me that I should never have
a pennyof your money, if you remember,
sir. I have never expected it after that
day." said Reuben Culwick.
"Why should you?" said Mr. Culwick
In a loud tone of voice, and yet without
betraying any passion. "Have I been
v known in all my life to break my word?
Has not sticking to my word, throish
thick and thin, in evil report and good
report, made me what I am? I would
rather break my own heart than' break
my word. Yon know it," said the father
boastfully.
"Fifty hearts as well as your own
yes, I know it," answered the other, witn
an unflinching gaze at his father, "and
hence I come to you not for assistance,
I don't want it; not for affection, I don't
exDect it but with the simple motive,
which I hope that my letter conveyed to
you last week, to see you, to express sor
row for a long alienation, to ieei giaa
that you are well, to tell you that I am
not unhappy, and to go away again."
The son's tones seemed to impress the
father, who subsided into his easy chair,
from which he had leaned forward, as if
cowed by the cold, clear-ringing tones
of the voice which fell upon his ears, a
voice which subdued him, and an arro
gance that had always been difficult to
quell which touched him, though he
never owned that which made him even
prouder of his son, though the time nev
er came for him to own that, either.
The young woman in the background
leaned forward with clasped hands until
he caught her glance again, when she
once more turned her eyes upon her book.
"Have you made your fortune?" asked
the father, in a different voice.
"On the contrary, I have been .some
what unsuccessful."
"How do you live?"
"I write a little," he added modestly.
"It is a long story, that would scarcely
interest you."
"It would not interest me in tHe least."
There was another long pause, during
which the son, still at his ease, still singu
larly hard, despite his respectful man
ner, glanced round at the pictures on the
walls, admired them even, secretly but
not enviously, wondered at their cost, and
looked once more in thedirection of the
lady, whose pensive face and quiet grace
he admired also, and at whose presence
he wondered in a greater degree, though
he repressed all exhibition of surprise.
Suddenly the father said, with that sin
gular abruptness characteristic of the
man:
"You can stay here if you like."
"For how long?" asked the son, sur
prised at last out of bis assumption of
D14A1AMDED REUBEN.
stoical composure.
"Till we disagree again," said the fath
er, with a short, forced laugh; "that wijl
not be many days, I suppose?"
"One moment, sir," said Reuben Cul
wick, with grave politeness. "A mis
take parted us, and we are laying the
foundation of another already, unless I
explain the first."
"Go on."
"I was hardly twenty-one a rash and
foolish young fellow when you wanted
me to marry your friend's daughter."
"You would have been rich you would
have been respected it would have been
for the best." ,
"I refused to entertain the proposal, if
you remember."
"Remember! remember it!" cried the
father, turning pale with anger; "do you
rake this up again to insult me?"
"No, to enlighten you," said the other;
"at that period, Mr. Culwick, I had prom
ised my mother that I would not marry
the lady."
CHAPTER III.
The effect of Reuben Culwick's an
nouncement upon his father was remark
able. The big man rose from his chair
with his two large hands clenched, and
his face of a deep purplish hue, and
glared at his son in speechless wrath.
Then he sank slowly and heavily into his
seat 'again, and panted for awhile. The
dark coloring left the face, but the bushy
black brows retained their lower curves
over the eyes, and the mouth was hard
and fixed, until the lips parted slightly to
allow a few words to escape.
"And this is the first time you tell me
that you were in league with your moth
er?" "Yes," answered Reuben, politely. "I
was a willful lad who had not been
brought up well or looked after carefully,
and I had been only taught to fear you.
My mother, who had been separated from
you for some years, I was learning to re
spect then. When we quarreled, I went
to take care of her as well as I could. I
was with her when she died."
"You know how I hated your play-acting
mother' how she hated me. Why do
you tell me that you sided with her, when
it would be so much the better policy -to
keep this to yourself?" said the father,
bitterly. , -
"Because I am not afraid of you any
longer because I see now where you
were wrong." . -
"And you expect me to forgive this de
ceit, as old men do at the end of a play?"
"Or toward the end of their lives," add
ed Reuben. '"".
"Don't talk to me' of the end of my
life," he cried; "I dare say you have
thought enough of it have considered
that it would be as well to 'sink your
cursed pride and your curseder temper,
and come here in prodigal-son fashion.
But it won't do; I'm not a man to be
hoodwinked in that way." J X- j
"I am not sorry to have seen you, fath
er," said Reuben, rising; "I came out of
ms way a long way out of it to reach
Worcester. I am glad to find yon wefl.
Good day. .
He extended his hand again, but this
time his father refused to take it.
"You have come out of your way to
give me a fresh wound, that's all," said
the father, sullenly, "and you have done
It effectually. I don't want you to trou
ble me again. You will not come here
again at my invitation. I can't forgive
you why should I? I never forgave
anybody. I never forgave your mother.
Your two aunts offended me years ago,
you know. Have I ever forgiven them?
One died last summer, and .1 wouldn't
go to see her wouldn't go near her and
the other one is in St. Oswald's alms
houses, blind as a bat, and livings on
eight shillings a week. Eight shillings a
week, and those pictures there cost me
eighty thousand pounds."
"A good investment," said Reuben Cul
wick, coolly, and critically looking round
the walls; "they will increase in value
year by year, sir." ;
As he looked round he became aware,
for the first time, that the lady in the bay
window had disappeared. i She had pass
ed from the room silently, through a sec
ond door at the extremity of the picture
gallery.
"And I never gave her a penny in my
life," added Mr. Culwick, senior.
"Poor old Sarah blind is she? and in
the almshouse, too! I am sorry. I liked
old Sarah," said Reuben; "she was one
of the few friends I had when I was a
boy, and when you were not rich. Btit I
am detaining you, and I am pledged to
reach London to-night. . Good by again."
When he had reached the door, Simon
Culwick called out his name, and Reu
ben paused and turned.
"I am not deceitful," said the father,
"and I may as well tell you that I have
made my will, and that you will never
be a penny the better for it. It is all left
all," he added, "away from an unduti
f ul son."
There was a moment's pause, and then
Reuben Culwick quitted his father's pres
ence and closed the door after him. He
went from the room into the corridor, and
thence along, its entire length to the din
ing room, where he threw himself into a
chair with so thoughtful a mien that he
was not for the moment aware that the
young lady in gray silk whom he had seen
in the bay window was stepping back
from the big fleecy mat at the door, to
allow of his egress. When he saw her,
she put her finger to her lips, and he
repressed an exclamation of surprise.
"Go back," she said, with an excite
ment that astonished him; "don't give
up don't leave him like that it'sVour
last chance."
"You have been listening," said Reu
ben, coldly.
"To every word," was the honest con
fession; "and you have not said a word
to please him, and much to offend. Why
did you come, if in no better spirit than
this? Go back to him. Tell him how
sorry you are for everything do some
thing before you go that will leave be
hind a better, impression," she urged
again.
"No, I can't go back." .
"You are as hard as he is," she cried;
"as if it mattered what you said to him
as if it were not worth a struggle to
regain your position here!"
Grasping her wrists, while her hands
covered her face to hide it from his fierce
gaze, Reuben exclaimed in a wondering
tone, "Who are you?"
"Only the housekeeper, sir," she said,
quaintly; "keeping bouse for Simon Cul
wick and in your . place. You should
hate me as a usurper already," she add
ed, mockingly, "if you had any spirit in
you."
"The housekeeper yes but " he
said wonderingly, and without regarding
her strange taunts. "I was not aware
tt -
"Why should you be aware of anything
about me, you who are as quarrelsome
and strange as your father, and have
kept away so long? There, go home and
think of the best way to bring that old
man to his senses."
"And interfere with your chance," said
Reuben, lightly. He was in better spir
its already, and the odd manner of this
young lady interested him.
- "I have no chance," she answered, "or
I should not be very anxious for you to
get back. I should be too selfish I
should try and keep you away, being as
fond of money as your father is."
"I hardly believe this."
"Mr. Reuben Culwick can believe ex
actly what he pleases," said the young
lady, spreading out her skirts and mak
ing him a very low obeisance, which he
felt bound to return, after which he
would have continued the conversation
had she not darted out of the door and
disappeared.
(To be continued.)
What They Said.
" Penelope Charley called last night.
Justine That's twice in a week, Isn't
it?
Penelope Yes.
Justine I suppose he'll come three
times in the next week?
Penelope That's what my brother
says.
Justine And six times the next?
Penelope That's what aunty says.
Justine And seven times the next?
Penelope That's what papa says.
Justine And then what?
Penelope Then we'll get married;
that's what everybody says.
Justine And then what?
, Penelope Then I sha'n't see him any
more of an evening; that's what mam
ma says.- Baltimore Sun.
Mildly Rebuked.
"Didn't you say that it was going to
rain to-day?"
"I did," answered the weather
prophet.
"But there hasn't been a . sign of
moisture."
"I am perfectly aware of the fact. All
I could do was to offer the best opinion
on the subject that I could arrive at. If
I could accurately foretell events, I
should quit working for a salary and
make a fortune In the stock market."
Washington Star.
So Thoughtful.
She There, dear, haven't I been
thoughtful of yon and unselfish?.
He How?
"Why, I kept all these bills of mine
away from you oatil the middle of the
month!"
To see what Is rteht; and not to do It,
is rant of courage,-or of principle.
CocfucJus. - "' -i-v. i
A II M III I MtfM'IHtttttHH"Hll I
1 (MM Ml
......... t
Said by Children.
"Is your new nurse French or Ger
man?" asked the visitor. "I flnk heir's
bwoken English," replied 3-year-old
Margie.
"Come, Harry," said his mother, "If s
time all good little boys were In bed."
"But, mamma," rejoined the little fel
low, "you said I was naughty to-day,
so that lets me'.out" "
"Mamma," queried little 4-year-old
Mabel, "was papa related to us before
he married into our family?" "Cer
tainly not, dear," was the reply. "Oh,
then we just adopted him, didn't we,
mamma?" continued the small miss.
Little Dorothy was visiting In the
country last summer and, seeing a
black, red and white calf in the barn,
she ran to her mother and said: "Oh,
mamma, come out to the barn and see
the cute little cow with a calico skin."
Mamma Johnny, do you know what
day to-morrow will be? Johnnys-Yes,
mamma; my birthday. Mamma And
what would you like for the occasion?
Johnny (after a pause) I'd like to see
our schoolhouse burn down.
To Hake Miniature Toys.
With scissors for tools and paper
and toothpicks to take the place of
lumber and beams, boys and girls can
MADE. OF PAPER
get lots of fun by making little ob
jects. To make a chair, cut the figure
(a) twice out of a cardboard or a
playing card.
Where the design is marked by dots,
bore small holes and stick the ends of
toothpicks through them, allowing only
the extreme ends to stick out, and the
chair is ready (b). The same way you
can make a cradle (c).
A double Jadder (d), a rocking-chair
(e), a stretcher (f), a push-cart (g), a
sleigh (h), a wagon (1), a house (k), a
bench (m), can be made by the same
simple means. - '
A table (n) is made by bending a
square piece of cardboard, as shown in
the picture, and Inserting four tooth
picks into the two places where the
paper Is bent under.
A basket is made out of a round ring
or a square (r and s) and a smaller
round or square piece of cardboard, as
shown in the illustrations.
Children's Games.
Children are instinctive conserva
tives. They play the old games and re-
POETS IN THE POORHOU8E.
A Sather Pathetic Discussion of the
Worth of Rival Vera Makers.
In no country is there among the
poorest and least educated a greater
love of poetry than in Ireland; no
where are the poets of the people held
longer or more fervently in remem
brance. Lady Gregory tells a charac
teristic anecdote of a discussion which
she heard between two of the aged,
toil-worn, poverty-stricken inmates of
Gort Workhouse concerning the rival
merits of two peasant bards of sixty
years ago Raftery and Callinan.
The partizan of Callinan declared
that he had been a more respectable
kind of man, owning a little farm of
his own and his own cattle v moreover,
that he had more settled and respecta
ble ways; also, that he was more good
natured, and did not lash his neighbors
with satire; finally, that he was a bet
ter poet, anyway, and that Raftery,
the blind, wandering rimester, admit
ted it by avoiding any encounter with
him, and once wept with chagrin when
some satiric verses on his rival were
answered to overwhelming effect by
the rival's brother, also a poet.
The aged champion of Raftery (real
ly the more gifted poet of the two)
reluctantly admitted that he "would
run people down, and was someways
bitter"; but he, too, was kind at heart;
and she instanced the pretty incident
of the marriage of a poor servant lad
and lass "that was only a marriage
and not a wedding till Raftery chanc
ed to. come in; and he made it one,"
composing a grand song descriptive of
a noble feast, calling in the neighbors
to hear It, turning the occasion into a
ifestivaL and finally taking up a con
tribution from each guest, and bestow
ing the generous result on the happy
and astonished pair.
But the -partizan of Callinan was not
silenced- "I tell you," said she, em
phatically. "Callinan was a nice man
jand a nice neighbor. Raftery wasn't
fit to put beside him. Callinan was a
6 : . . . . ! - A . y3 1 n
Little Stories and
Incidents that Will
Interest and Enter-
tain Young Readers
i
peat the old rhymes century after .cen
tury, with little if any variation.
Blind man's buff, for example a
survival of the rites peculiar to the
worship of Odin, the sightless deity
is played to-day exactly as it was
played 2,000 years ago.
So, too, is "tag," which was original
ly a fragment of a sacred pantomime,
or miracle play, portraying the old, old
story of Diana and her nymphs.
In "'London Bridge is broken down"
we are . treated to the entire ritual of
the foundation sacrifice, that wide
spread, hideous custom, which decreed
that a living child must be sacrificed
to the god of the structure ere it could
be expected to stand firm.
First, it. will be remembered, the
children urge alternative measures.
"London Bridge is broken down," cry
the two leaders, standing from an arch,
hands clasped, so as to form an arch,
beneath which the other little players
race, as if in dread. .
"Build it up with, bricks and mor
tar," is the reply.
"Bricks and mortar will mold away."
"Build it up with penny loaves
with gold and silver set a man to
watch all day set a dog to bark all
night," and the rest of it.
AND TOOTHPICKS.
Then, lastly, the hands are unclasp
ed, the "arch" falls, catching one of
the players preferably a little girl
in its mock descent, after which all the
children shout In unison. "Hurrah!
Hurrah! Now 'twill last for aye and a
day, with a fair lady." Pearson's
Weekly.
Little Sleepy-Head.
Oh, please, will some wise person say
Which is the really proper way
For mother's little sleepy-head,
To get each morning out of bed?
For often when I cry and pout,
As sister combs my tangles out.
She says "Ohy Rose," and shakes her
head,
"You've got the wrong way out of bed!"
I've tried both right and left foot first,
I'm not quite sure which is. the. worst
But was it not unkind of Ned
To bid me "fall out on my head?"
So. please, if some on really knows,
Just send a line my name is Rose,
At mother's house I always stay,
And our old postman knows the way.
man that would go out his own back
door and make a poem about the four
quarters of the earth. I tell you, you
would stand in the snow to listen to
Callinan!"
But just then, Lady Gregory records,
a bed-ridden old woman, who had not
joined in the discussion at all, "sud
denly sat up in bed and began to sing
Raftery's love song, 'Bridget Yesach'
(Courteous Bridget). This she contin
ued as long as her breath lasted; so
the last word was for him, after all."
Big Task: to Sweep Floor.
It Is enough to blister one's hands
just to contemplate the job that con
fronted the men who swept the floor
of the mammoth palace of agriculture
at the St Louis world's fair. When
the contractors finished their work all
that remained to be done was to
sweep the floor. It never dawned on
anyone how great the task was. ' Cald
well & Drake, the contractors, ordered
a dozen brooms and set twelve men to
work. When night came their Inroads
on the twenty-three acres of floor
space were scarcely noticeable. They
Increased the force next day to forty
men and ordered 100 brooms. These
forty men worked ten days before the
big floor was thoroughly swept.
Sometimes.
Sunday School Teacher Bobby,
where do good people go when they
die? .
Bobby (glibly) To heaven.
Sunday School Teacher Yes, that is
right. And if a person who is wicked
all the way through dies, where does
he go?
Bobby To the police station.
Woman's Home Companion.
A man who boasts of being able to
accomplish more in one day than any
other man can in a week never has
occasion to do it.
If some men knew as much as they
talk the encyclopedia would hays to
retire from business.
j Mm-' - - ""sr at "Osw
oOo
Women aa Farm Owners.
The number of women in the United
States who are studying agriculture
grows larger every year. Nearly all
agricultural departments of Western
universities and colleges admit wom
en on equal terms with men, and there
are a number of Eastern Institutions
where they are welcomed. Secretary
Wilson so far approves of women as
farmers that he frequently addresses
classes in the Columbia Normal School,
Washington, where there are forty
woman pupils, and elsewhere. It is
Secretary Wilson's nope that agricul
ture, or the first principles of the sci
ence, will soon be a part of the cur
riculum In every rural school, and this
will mean that thousands of women
will have to take normal courses in ag
ricultural science In order to fit them
selves for teachers.
In Western schools and colleges of
agriculture are many girls who have in
herited, or expect to inherit, large
farms, which they will manage them
selves. Others study special branches
of farming, such as dairying, small
fruit growing, market gardening,- etc.
Women are well fitted for these
branches, and have made them profit
able in so many parts of the country
that all doubt of the wisdom of this
choice of a profession seems to be dis
pelled. '
A new kind of special farming has
recently engaged the attention of wom
en In the Eastern States. At the fruit
and flower shows given each autumn
In New York much Interest has at
tached to experiments In growing cul
tivated varieties of chestnuts, pecans,
walnuts, etc. Larger tracts of lands In
Southern New Jersey have been plant
ed with choice nut trees, the Italian
and Japanese giant chestnut chief
among them. One young woman went
Into partnership with her brother in
planting twenty acres of land owned
by them, and a few years later re
signed a well-paying position in a
New York law office to attend to the
growing business of their nut farm.
She looks after every detail of the
work the gathering and shipping of
the crop, and the correspondence, and
will probably one day become the sole
owner of the property New York
Evening Post.
The Dressing-Sack Woman.
There is a popular delusion to the
effect that household tasks require slip
shod garments and unkempt hair. Let
the frowsy ones contemplate the
trained nurse in her spotless uniform,
with her snowy cap and apron and her
shining hair. Let the doubting ones
go to a cooking school and see a neat
young woman in a blue gingham gown
and a white apron prepare an eight
course dinner, and emerge spotless
from the ordeaL
The woman who puts on an apron
over her dressing sack by that act
openly proclaims that the thing would
be better if It was belted in. Then
why not a shirt waist? Does one ever
a trained nurse In a dressing sack,
even when she does heavier work than
any other woman is ever called upon
to do? If a woman in the uniform of
a trained nurse can do the manifold
things assigned to her calling, surely
the laundress and the cook do not need
a dressing sack.
There is a cynical adage that runs
thus: "Strangers for help, friends for
advice and relatives for nothing." Few
of us will be bold enough to say there
Is no truth In it, and the reason Is not
far to seek. Who should help us If
not those who always see our best
side? Strangers think us charming,
friends admit but pardon our faults,
and relatives fight with us.
We make our houses spotless for a
stranger, but friends can take us as
we are. For a new acquaintance there
Is purple and fine linen, while we offer
our friends cold potatoes and remnants
of nle. The solid silver and dainty em
broideries are put away for the stran-f
ger, while one's husband, who, In a
way, is a relative by marriage, eats
left-overs out of nicked dishes, and con
templates a dressing sack between
mouthf uls. The Pilgrim.
Social Success.
Young girls who belong to the same
social set are much on an equal plane
between the ages of 12 and 18; wheth
er they are rich or poor, plain or pret
ty, does not then particulary count
as they have similar pursuits and in
terests, and are practically on an
equality. It is after their social de
but that the great differences becomes
apparent and that friends are more
or less separated through Inevitable
circumstances. The social success of
some young women Is a foregone con
clusion. The prominence and wealth
of their families, combined with a cer
tain amount of attraction, render
any exertion quite unnecessary. They
have only to take graciously and
sweetly the goods that the gods pro
vide, to be very popular. With the
rank and file of maidens, however, it
is quite different, and depends upon
themselves whether they become per
sona grata in society or gradually
drop out of the running with former
associates. Unluckily for the major
ity, it is only experience that sharp
ens their wits and perceptions, and
that can only be acquired by failures
and knowledge of the world. If young
people could only get experience with
out experiencing, ; or if they would
only be content to take what their
elders have acquired -at considerable
cost how many years they might gain
and how much more assured won!
be their success! If in mental progress
one Is willing to take for granted what
others have discovered, and begin
where they leave off, why is It in mat
ters that are personally more Import
ant that human nature always refuses
to be guided and Invariably begins
anew?
. "I know exactly what would make
my girls have a good time In society,"
said a woman of experience, "but
they will not take my advice. They
will see some day that I am right, and
they are wrong, but, then, unfor
tunately. It will be tod late," New
York Tribune. .
The Blessing- of Educated Wifes.
So long as women were absolutely
Ignorant, men could pass as wise on
small capital; but the growing mind
of woman lifts the mind of man with
two great forces heredity and sex-at--traction.
Large-brained mothers make
better men, and the sweetheart who
is wise as well as kind can do wonders
with her lover.
Lord Chesterfield's advice to his son
Is clear on this point He strongly
uigco uiiu ui uuurji tt wuluhjj - wuo -a v.
A Mn 11 .1.1. 1 3 1
moo aa wtsu as riuu, imiHiwiag anu r
well-born; "for," says he, "thou wilt
find there Is nothing more fulsome than
a she-fooL"
The Greeks would not have educated
wives, owing to prejudice, tradition
and general error; but, as they grew ca
pable of more pleasure than the prim
itive sex-relation allows, they sought
it outside of marriage.
It is wonderful how long a piece of,
idiocy will stick In the human brain.
Never was a more splendid develop
ment of some mental qualities than In
Athens, yet there this antique lgno- .
ranee remained bedded in the fertile
Intellectual soli like a bowlder in a gar
den. They would have slavery, and they
would have ignorant wives, and they
felL
To-day, with our new knowledge of
the laws of nature, with our great ad
vance In freedom of thought and ac
tion, there is still less excuse for us.
We know now that a nation Is best
measured by the position of its women.
Charlotte Perkins Gilman, In Success.
Her Reasons.
She bought a' hat plain, prim nd flat
With feathers trained on wiitinglyj .
It hid her eyes like a disguise
And touched one ear tiptiltingly; 'i
A homely thing of straw and string,
And yet she proudly flaunted it,
Twas all made clear by her "Oh, dearl
Another woman wanted it!,"
' '
She wears a dress it cost no leBS" !"
Than ninety-five simoleons;
It's faded tan, and looser than
That great coat of Napoleon's;
It puckers so, and flares as though
Some dismal spirit haunted it;
It has no style but she will smile;
Another woman wanted it!"
Of bric-a-brac she has no lack.
And still she's always buying morer ' ' . ''
Weird wail designs and ugly steins;
Strange foods she's always tryinjr
more.
Once to her flat she brought a cat
'A fake Maltese. We taunted her.
She sighed: "I know I'm beat but, oh,
Another woman wanted her!"
Her married life is naught but strife
But what's the use to moralize?
"He" has an awe inspiring jaw
And "I-delight-to-quarrel" eyes,
Threats of divorce or shows of force
Have never even daunted him.
And she'll confess: "Well, I said 'Yes .
Another woman wanted him!"
W. D. Nesbit in Life.
Do Not TJrare Tonr Child.
If your child cannot concentrate Its
mind or commit to memory without
great difficulty, or if it seems back
ward, do not urge' it to study. No de
velopment which is forced is natural
or normal. The mind may be develop
ing unevenly. When the brain cells are
more fully developed and the nerve
cells more mature, the faculties will
balance and the child will become nor
mal, evenly developed. But he ' must
be encouraged instead of being dis
couraged, for otherwise the result may
be disastrous. It is druel to keep tell
ing a child that he Is dull or stupid,
or that he is not like other children.
The discouraging pictures thus im
pressed upon his plastic mind will cling
to It and become Indelible In the brain
of the man and handicap him for life. -
Success.
Safe Way to Clean Carpets.
An experienced chemist says the
following recipe is warranted to re
move soil and spots from the most
delicate carpets without Injuring
them.
Make a suds with a good white soap
and hot water, and add fullers' earth
to this until the consistency of thin
cream is secured. Have plenty of
clean drying cloth, a small scrubbing
brush, a large sponge and a pall of
fresh water. Put some of the clean
ing mixture in a bowl and dip a brush
In it; brush a small piece of the cars
pet with this; then Wash with the
sponge and cold water. Dry as much
as possible with the sponge, and fin
ally rub with dry cloths. Continue
this till you are sure that all the car
pet is clean; then let It dry. Chicago
Journal. '
Misunderstood.
Grace Miss Olde says she Is after a
man with money. '
Barbara Well, that may be a suc
cessful way, bu I'd hate to think I
had bribed a man to be my husband,
Hi