Image provided by: Yamhill County Historical Society; McMinnville, OR
About The Yamhill County reporter. (McMinnville, Or.) 1886-1904 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 9, 1900)
THE HAPPY »SLES. Their bree'zes bear the orange «cent. About their grove* the wild doves drone. The sunshine girds their shores. Con tent Has made them utterly Her owa. But far they lie—ah, far Beyond the tossing bar, Beneath the sunset, and alone. The long lagoons are lapped in calm. The shadows are riuged with surdeas sheen; The shadows slant from palm to palm. But dim they lie—ah, dim Upon the utmost brim Of sea and sunset, fairly seen. Within thine eyes I gaze, and there The chart is plain. Ah. Sweetheart, be My pilot while the winds are fair. Come, then. Beloved, sail with me. For near they draw—ah, near. And cle’ar they grow—ah, clear. Beneath the sunset on the sea. —Pall Mall Gazette. »»»»««»»»«»»»»(-»»•»»»»Eg»» ERE we are at the old willow. I m I What do you say to coming to anchor for a bit?" he remarked, bringing the Canadian close In to the bank. "That Is Just what one finds so Im possible in life—coming to anchor, I mean," she said, dabbling her left band in the water. "Look here. I>l,” he Jerked out pres ently, “what is the good of beating about the bush? There's something wrong, and you are worrying yourself about it, and I am going to make you tell me everything. You used to tell me everything once, DI. without invita tion,” he added, with an attempt at raillery that was chiefly pathetic. "Don't be a duffer, Hugh,” she ob served. "May I not be sententious now and then without being forced to ex plain that I mean nothing at all? Now, will you please amuse me? It Is n shame to waste an afternoon like this.” "Of course it Is.” he echoed. “You see, dear, all the gods and the fairest of mortals—meaning your delightful self—seem to be conspiring for tny hap piness; when the gods Itehave In this odd kind of way we are told to distrust them. First of all. I have you—have had you quite fast, since the days when I robbed orchards, and you, like a sec- ‘‘ I AM GOINS TO Tl LI. YOU A STOIIY.” ond Eve. ate the apples; then I have secured two firsts and a reasonable chance of a fellowship; lastly, a most commendable maiden aunt sees tit to die and endow me with the wealth that perishes. It Is too much, you know. Di. not a doubt of it; the stagey thing to happen Is for me to lose you. and there by make dust and ashes of all my other possessions.” "Do you know,” lie1 recommenced presently. “I can't, for the life of me. help feeling sentimental, and gray, and awfully sorry for myself, when 1 think that Cambridge is over and done- with. IxMik at that bit of Clare there, gazing out upon King's with such a genial eye; then there Is the1 willow above us, and the bridge from which one used to listen to the* nightingales, and and the Fen aunaets one has seen, and the* cheery lift*. All gone. Di, forever and forever.” "All gone,” she echoed In a voice that was almost tragic by comparison with the half flippancy of his. "Staying up here Imleflnltely as a don Is not the same thing," he went on. "The glamour wears thin, and one slips Into formula lu place of feelings, and acquire s uncanny views of women. You have met Roberts often lately, haven't you? lie Is only Just ¡10, and yet he has settled Into Ills groove* as If he were 110. As a coach he Is marvelous, r.nd I have1 every admiration for the way In which l e has pu I >«| me through, but but I should have liked to ex hibit the genuine Roberts to you. DI; you would have been edlfled. I think. I never met a man who could so effect ually turn his blind eye to the good qualities of women.” "Ah!" murmured the girl. "Let us go down the river again." abe said af er a pause. "I have something to say to you, Hugh, and It will lie easier If we are in motion.” "I have often wondered what would happen to Rolierts If he met his destiny written large." he mused audibly. “It would knock him clean out of time. I fancy, should he lose. That Is the worst of tiles«' men who go on In smil ing indifference to amatory danger«: they are pulled up with a horrid Jerk. Don't you think Infant vaccination w th love lymph Is to Is* advocatt'd? You don't take it half as badly In tliat c s ." "Oh. Hugh, »by will you Is* so so frivolous?" pleaded the girl, something between amusement and desperation In her voice. "Can't help It. DI. for the life of me; I was born so. you know.” "I am going to tell you a story. Hugh." she went on with more com- poaurr. “and you shall give me your verdict on It. Don’t stop; I can't bear to remain atllL The story la about a woman and a man of whom the woman was very fond—so fond that she bad promised, almost before she grew up, that she would marry him. She did not know that love meant something else, until—until she came up to Cambridge one May week. Hugh, please don't look at me In that way; it Is only a story. Well, she met some one very often, more often than she had a right to do, during that week; she did not realize the end to which they were drifting—she was merely Interested In drawing a grave, book-hardened mau out of his shell; being rather willful, she could not be confronted with a solid wall of Ice and not wish to thaw It.” The man's face was the color of damp parchment. "Go on,” he said as she halted In the telling. "She succeeded. Hugh. It all came al*out on the night of a certain college bail, beneath an old willow—the same under which we anchored not long ago. The wall of ice melted suddenly en masse, and the rush of water carried both of them away. It was then that the woman learned the added element which converted fondness Into love: It was then that she lost sight of honor and allowed the man to kiss her." “Good God!” She had not dreamed that Hugh would take it like this. Sorry, very sorry, she expected him to be, but not anguished. She had grown up with him, and tragedy always seems out of place with people who have become dovetailed into our lives by common places. “Hugh, you must not think I—gave you up.” she said, with the slily strug gle of a sheep that sees th«» slaughter house door before It. “I told him al most at once that I was bound to you, and I shall not break my promise. Only 1 had to confess, tiecause It would not have been right to conceal it from you.” They were close In to the left bank of the river, and a step was audible on the pathway. Both looked up. Both turned their eyes from the bank to each other, and a light broke In on Hugh. "That's Roberts, the man who pulled me through so well,” he observed, cha otically. “Would you like to land. Di?” “No, no!” she cried. But the canoe was already brought to, aud he had leaped on shore. Me chanically she took the hand lie held out to her; mechanically she responded to the confused greeting of Eustace Roberts, classical coach and father of unnumbered firsts. One among the last-born of bls offspring seemed to be somewhat Intoxicated this afternoon— perhaps the heat had been too much for him. “You’re a decent old sort, Roberts,” he remarked, hilariously slapping his precentor on the back, “and I—congrat ulate yon. Should never have expected It. Sly dogs, you cynical beggars. Don’t mind me—enjoy this kind of thing, you know. Good-by, good-by; I must be off. No good missing Ilall, you see, for the sake of being de trop.” Before they could stop him he was well out In the middle of th«* river and paddling hard In the direction of King's. “Poor chap!" muttered Roberts. “Poor chap!" said the girl. “Is that all you can find to say appropriate to tile occasion?” "Yes; the rest Is away behind, shut up beyond the reach of words,” he re sponded, gravely. Had Illa Share. Recently n medical man told this tale nt a professional banquet. "Not long since,” said the doctor, “a member of the medical profession died, and In due time» approached the gates of the beautiful land. He was, of course, accosted by St. Peter. " ‘Wliat Is your name?’ asked the aged doorkeeper. " ‘Sam Jones,' was the reply. “ ‘What was your business while on en rt h ?' “ ‘I was a doctor.’ “ ‘Oh, a physician, ell?’ “ ‘Yes, sir.' " 'Made out your own bills, I sup pose?' » “ ‘Yes. sir.’ " ‘Collected ’em yourself?’ "'Why—why—yes, sir.’ stammered th«1 wondering shade of the physician. "And then St. Peter threw_wlde the portals ami said: 'Go right In. my friend; If you’ve done that you’ve had punishment enough.' ”—Colorado Springs Facts. T ic Highest Tower. Th«1 highest tower In th«» world Is presently to be built as one of the great attractions of Buffalo during the Pan-American Exhibits n. which Is to be held In that city In 1901. It Is to be 1,152 feet high and 400 f«'et square nt tln> base, and will Iw a much mor«' or namental building than th«* Eiffel Tower. It will be served by no fewer than thirty tlire«' eh'Ctrle elevators, sixteen of which will run only to the first landing. 225 feet above th«' level of th«' ground. Th«' whole Journey from th«' bottom to th«' top will neeessltat«' four changes of «'levators, and will take alsiut six minutes, while th«' elevators will have a «'«rrylng capacity of 10.000 an hour. The estlmnhsl cost of this tower, which will be built of steel. Is gMMl.000. or about twice as much as that of til«' Eiffel Tower. Eating anil W-irht. It has Issti seriously asserted by many p«'opl«' that we are naturally lighter after a mi al and they h ive eveu gon«' th«> length of explaining this by tli<‘ auumut of gas that Is develope«! from th«' food. Average observations, however, show that we lose thr«*e pounds and six ounces between night and morning; that we gain one pound and twelve ounces by breakfast; that we again lose about fourteen outlet's before lunch: that Innch puts on an average of on«» pound; that we again lone during the afternoon an average of ten onncea; but that an onHnary dinner to healthy persons adds two I pouuds and two ounces to their weight. I CHILDREN’S COLUMN. A DEPARTMENT FOR LITTLE BOYS AND GIRLS. 1 Something that Wilt Interest the Ju venile Members of Every Household —Quaint Actions and Bright hayings af Many Cute and Cunning Children. Bessie, Bessie, come quickly, and bring kitty with you," called Aunt Ella up the stairs. "What for, Auntie?” was the answer, as Bessie came running down. She held a pretty little tabby kitteu of three months old in her baby arms. "Cook says there is a mouse back of the kitchen, dear.” replied Auntie, as she lifted the little girl off the last step of the stairs. "A live mouse!” cried Bessie, trot ting down the passage after her Aun tie. "Why, hasn’t It run away? It will be kitty's first mouse, won't It, Auntie?” “Yes. and I think It will tie mousle’s first kitty, too. Cook says it Is a very little one,” said Auntie. Opening a door at the end of the pas sage, Bessie ran into the kitchen. “Where is the mousie, cook?” she asked. “I've brought kitty.” "He very quiet, Bessie.” said cook as she led the way to the little yard back of the kitchen. “He’ll come out again In a minute If you wait.” Bessie put down the kitten, who, never having seen a mouse before, sat down on the steps wondering why he “WHAT A FUNNY I.1TTI.E THING !” was awakened from his cozy nap on Bessie’s soft bed. Very soon the dear est. tiniest, tiinldest gray mouse Bes sie had ever seen ran out from under the gate, and looked round with his bright black eyes. He did not seem a bit afraid of kitty, but ran up to him and held up his little nose for a kiss. As kitty was not very big. no doubt mousie thought it was his mother. “Kitty thinks. ‘What a funny little thing,’ ” sakl Bessie in a whisper, as he lient down and smelt it. Mousie gave a little jump, and ran away as fast as he could go. Then kitty sprang after him. “Oh! he will kill the poor little mousie,” cried Bessie, Jumping up from her chair. “No. he won't. Look, dear! He’s gone!” said Auntie. Anti sure enough, at that moment Master Mousie reached his hole under the fence, and ran into it with a squeak of Joy. Bessie picked up the kitten. “Poor kitty! don't be disappointed! Never mind If you have lost him. I’ll give you a nice dinner Instead.” Then she added, as she ran upstairs, “You’re a very good little kitty to let mousie run home and not kill him.” Just a Little Huy. There is a boy in our town, I And he is wondrous wise). Who. when the rain conies pouring down And clouds o'erspread the skies. Says, "I'll just smile the best 1 can, No matter how it pours; And we’ll have sunshine in the house If it does rain out of doors.” When naughty words swarm through his brain. And clamor to be said. He shuts his teeth together tight And says, "I’ll kill you «lead. Unless you will be sweet ami kind. And good and full of fun; You can't com«' out until you are— No, not a single one!” He thinks when lie’s a grown-up man. With wise ami sober face. He’ll do some wondrous deed to make This earth a brighter place; But nothing in this whole wide world Can give more lasting joy, Or make mor«' solid sunshine. Than just a little boy. — Philadelphia Times. Punch «ml Judy Are Great Favorites. Purls’ ohl-fashiomsl theaters still have Punch and Judy shows. The au dience are models of attention. The children sit serious or lightly laughing, following with delighted eyes th«' evo lutions of the notary, the gendarme, Pierrot. Mother Berllngu. and the oth ers that take th«' places of th«' charac ters our own young people know. The theaters are In the open air. All through the fall into early winter the bsre-legg«»d little folk come to them, rosy-faced and hardy. Under the bare branches of th«' horse chestnut trees of th«> Champ« Elysees they spin their tops when It Is all but freezing. The play Is a much longer one than Is given here, and there Is always a wht'ezy old aei'ordlon to furnish th«' music, but Mr. Punch fights his way through It all aud meets with the same eml at last. A Baby Suntlow. There Is a nine-months-old baby In Chicago which Is a wonder. For the first four week« after It came to this world It was Ilk«* any other baby, just a soft little kicking bundle of hunger. Then his papa, who Is Mr. A. A. Stagg, th«' teacher of athletics In the Chicago University, took the little Stagg in ha ml ami started In to make a baby Samlow out of him First he exercised th«' tiny arina and legs every day. and the baby eo«ied ami laugh«*«l and thought It great fun. And he was hungrier than ever. The baby'« papa wouhl roll him and tumble him. pull him and wool him ami haul hltn ami maul him till the friends of Mr. Stagg were afraid he would hurt the little fellow. But Mr. Stagg knew lust how to haudle a bumlle of human muscles, be they ever so tiny, and now that the baby Is 9 mouths old It can do things that very few little ou « m a year aud a half old can do, aud It Is better and stronger In every way than most babies. It has never had a sick day. This baby athlete will raise bls body straight up from a lying position with out using his arms, will raise bls body, by the leg muscles alone, from a crouch ing position to an upright one several times In succession, will arch his back like a wrestler, and will stand up on his papa's bands and balance himself like a bareback rider. His papa has made him a little trapeze, to which Baby Stagg bangs while he is swung roughly about, and draws himself up by the strong muscles In his little arms like an old performer. Every baby In the block Is being trained in athletics now—and they are all hungry all the time. I i Why It Was Bedtime. "Bobby, you must go to bed now" 1 “But, ma, It isn’t time!” "Yes. It is; your Uncle Robert and your father are going to tell what bad boys they used to be at school.” Nellie's Motto. Auntie—What is it you are embroldi Ing on the tidy for grandma? Little Nellie—The good die young. BOOK AGENT IN HARD LUCK. His Recipe for the Benefit of Drowning Men Did Not Work. “I’m through,” said the book agent wearily. “I’ve notified the house that they may no longer expect me to risk my life handling their goods. For the last thirty days 1 have been touring the State with a universal compendium of knowledge, containing first aids for the wounded, treatment for snake bites, how to bring a drowned man to, aud a thousand ¡md one other things that every man should know, bound in calf and sold at a price within the reach of all. 1 traveled on my wheel, ami that enabled me not only to work the small towns, but the surrounding country as well. One day 1 chanced to call upon an old farmer. I tried to get him interested in the great work that I was handling, but without suc- c«*ss until I showed him the chapter on drowning; then I saw that 1 had him. There was a small lake near where the boys went swimming and the old mail lived in fear that some one would get drowned. “Well, when I showed him how fully the book treated the subject I made a sale. It was a hot day, so I acepted an invitation from the old man's sons to go in swimming with them. 1 was hardly In the water when I was seized with a cramp. 1 shipped a gooil deal of water, but I managed to reach the shore without much trouble, although 1 was greatly exhausted. While 1 was gasping for breath the old man came running up with the book that 1 had sold him. Finding ‘he chapter on drowning he read the directions to his sons and told them to go ahead. Be fore I knew what was going to happen I was seizeil by two of his husky sons and hung up by the heels and poumled on the back until all the breath was knocked out of me. Then I was rolled over a barrel and pounded again; then a bellows was Jammed down my throat and I was pumped so full of wind that 1 thought 1 would burst. They tried every fool idea that was In the book, and it was only owiug to a sound con stitution that I lived through it. I'm through! 1 can’t afford to take the chances that are lu the business.”— New York Telegraph. ON THE MISSISSIPPI. Quaint Incident«, of Travel Along the Great River. A wholesaler In this city had one of the brightest and most Impressive lec tures ou advertising read to him by a country merchaut lasf week that he has ever heard lu his life. This country merchant Is not oue of the ordinary merchants. He Is a character In bls way, a Hibernian, and with his full share of the proverbial wit. This mer chant lives lu a small city of the State. and buys the better part of bis goods In this city. He was ou a buying trip, and, passing a wholesale house, be ob- served paper napkins in the windows. He went In to look at them, for be bad sale for such things lu his store. “An’ do ye have paper nnpklns to sell?” he asked of the wholesaler. He did have them, he said. “An’ how the dlvll do 1 be knowln" that ye have pa per uapklus to sell, If I don't come down here and happen to see them in the windy? Why don’t ye till a man ye have paper napkins? Why don’t ye advertise in the Commercial Bulletin? I Thin we'd know what ye bad to sell.” ■ The merchant told him that be did ad vertise In the Bulletin, which was true. I “Ah. yls,” said the merchant. "An’ how do ye advertise? Ye put a cut of yer bulldin’ in the paper. Now, what the divll do I be wantin’ to see the cut o’ yer buildin’ for? I don’t care for ' yer old bulldin’. It’s what’s In yer 1 buildin’ that interests me. If ye have paper napkins, say ye have paper nap- j kins, and don’t be a showin’ us a plc- 1 ture of your big store. That's the way I'm goln’ to sell these paper napkins I am buyln’ of ye. I put an advertise ment In me paper at home to tell the people of me town thet I have paper napkins to sell amt the price they have to pay for them, and be the powers they come ami buy thlni.” This whole saler told me that he bail more good advertising sense rubbed Into him lu ten minutes by this merchant than he had found In books In the past ten years.—Hardware Trade. Cost of Living in Paris. “To prove that we are economical young women shall I tell you how much we pay at the pension?” writes a girl lu the Ladies’ Home Journal, who. with a girl companion, is traveling In France aud giving the benefit of her experience to girls who may go to the Paris Expo sition this year. “The tariff card, tacked on the wall of my rose-twined Marie Antoinette room, says the price Is nine francs. Then how do I come to be pay ing only seven? One learns over here to marchander—‘to haggle, to bargain.’ If madame's prices read ‘from seven francs,’ and you write to her asking if she can let you have a room ami at that price, she will pobably reply tliat the only rooms she has unrented cost ten francs. But if you are wise enough to ask her if she has a room for seveu francs the answer will be ‘yes.’ We nre, of course, beyoml the pale of the bathtub, electric lights and big tips; the maid wlio cares for our room Is satis fied to receive a modest fee, and It is with a thrill of delight that we pick up our candlesticks and say ‘good-night’ just as they do In novels. We are com fortable and happy on two dollars per day. The fact that we are alone does Great French Disasters. not bring us a moment’s annoyance, nor Twenty-five thousand French prison subject us to any unreasonable re ers were taken by the German troops at straints.” the battle of Sedan, In the Franco-Ger man war, on the 31st of August, 1870, P. «sing of the Lily. while on the following day, as the re Bermuda lilies are becoming scarce. sult of the German victory, over 83,000 French soldiers surrendered, together If means are not soon adopted ou be with 70 mitrailleuses, 400 field-pieces, half of tills branch of the lily family aud 150 fortress guns. About 14.000 It will soon, like the buffalo, practically French wounded were found lying on disappear. Although a native of Japan, the battlefield, and about 3.000 escaped the Easter lily Is best known to Ameri into Belgium and laid down their arms. cans as being common in Bermuda. The On the 27th of October, in the same soil of the Island Is of peculiar composi year. Marshal Bazaine, after lighting tion. coral dust beiug an important con and suffering several defeats In the < stituent. It was at one time very rich, neighborhood of Metz, surrendered 1 but the production of the bulbs of the with his army, including Marshals | Bermuda lily has exhausted it to a Canroliert and Le Boeuf. GO generals. j great extent, hence the danger that the about 0.000 officers, an«l 173,000 men, | flower will disappear. But the exhaus including the Imperial Guard: 400 , tion of the soil is not the only thing pieces of artillery, and 53 eagles or I that threatens the lily. The flower It self is suffering from exhaustion. Flori standards. culturists have not yet been able to hit Strange Money. upon a name for the disease. The bulbs Chocolate is still used as money In are getting smaller year by year. certain parts of tlie iuterior of South America, as also are cocoanuts and Using Unemployed L»n«l. eggs. According to Ptescott the money For two years and more Columbus. of the Aztecs consisted of quills full of Ohio, has tried the Pingree plan of gold dust and bags of chocolate grains. 1 using unemployed lanil as gardens for Before the Introduction of coined mon the poor, anil has fouml It practical and ey Into Greece, skewers or spikes of eagerly adopted by those who are in iron and copper were used, six being nee«l of help. Last year the number a drachm or handful. The small, hard of families who tried It was more than shell known as the cowrie Is still use«l double that of the year before. Sixty In parts of India an<1 Africa In place of widows were among those who prefer- coin. Whales’ t«*«'th are used by the - re«l the potato patch to the washboard. Fijians, red feathers by some of the I Every city would be the better for al South Sea Islanders and salt In parts lowing Its waste an«l unemployed land of Abyssinia. In parts of India cakes to furnish food for those who are poor, of tea and In China pieces of silk pass and who are glad to work In the fields as currency. Oxen still form the circu for their support. lating medium among many of the Zulus and Kaffirs. A Beggars' Trust. According to the New York police Brill re Burned with Electricity. A novel metb<xl of destroying a wood most of the successful beggars In that en bridg«» has recently been tried with city belong to a trust. The beggars’ complete snceess. Weighted wires are trust Is said to own a large house In placed across rertaln beams an«l heat«st Brooklyn, which provide« every de by means of electricity; the wires burn scription of beggars’ supplies. Including their way through the wood. aided by Ixigus wooden arms. legs, humpbacks, pitiful placards for alleged blind men the weights, and the bridge falls. and cripples, etc. The beggars pay the latest in Roiea. trust a certain percentage of their earn The latest thing In roses is In the pos ings. anil the trust regulates the hours session of an East Anglian ros«^grower. of their labor, selects the districts, fur who. in bis catalogue, says that Its nishes a list of charltnbly dispose«! p«»o- name Is Kruger, and that It requires a ple and looks after membepr when ill. warm position and much disbudding. If an honest man Is the noblest work 1 Good fortune seldom travels around of God It might be policy to keep an eye In an automobile looking for you. ou tbs self-made man. Charity I« religion with it« coat off. Passenger service on the Mississippi River is in a fairly satisfactory condi tion. Between St. Paul and St. Louis, aud from there to New Orleans, there are large aud well-built craft, with comfortable state-rooms equipped with ruuuiug water aud spring matresses. Each steamer has a long cabin extend ing from stem to steru, where the ta bles are set for meals, aud where the passeugers dance in the evening. There are a piauo and sundry easy chairs, it costs about as much ou the boat per day as it does at a good lake side hotel, so that a passeuger virtually has the pleasure of travel for nothing. The chief difference between the life on a boat and that at a summer hotel Is that, iustead of viewing the same prospect day after day from a piazza, you have a new view from the boat every mo ment. The boat stops at every town, so that the passeuger may become fa miliar with the urban as well as the country life of the valley. The freight of the river is always taken to and from the boat ou the backs of negro roustabouts. There has been no ad vance In the manner of handling it since the steamboats first plowed the river. As soon as the boat's nose touch es the shore the gaugplauk Is lowered, and a seemingly endless procession of negroes begins to move back and forth, carrying ou board the bags of fiour, which, on tlie northern portion of the river, often makes the bulk of the car go. Plows, boxes, lumber aud mer chandise are tlie other products. River levees are much the same everywhere. The cargoes, however, are varied. They all present a picture of a hundred years ago. At Memphis, from the bluffs to the water's edge, is an Immense in clined plane of granite paving stones. In the center, about two hundred feet from the bluffs, runs a wide road the entire length of the levee, and disap pears among the compress factories aud oil mills, whose great bulks and tall chimneys appear lu the distance. Between this road aud the bluffs the levee is nearly level; from here to the river there is a steep descent. Above the road couieand go continually a swift stream of cotton loads aud empty drays, anti great piles of small cargoes to aud from local Jobbing houses; below it there are. during busy hours, a con glomerate mass of drays, mules, cotton bales, sacks of cottonseed, darkies, and all sorts of freight. Beyond Is the long row of steamers that line the shore, and In tlie background sweep the waters of the Mississippi. The center of activ ity may be one boat, such as the Big Sandy of the Memphis and Cincinnati line, just arrived, bringing a cargo of 2,000 cotton bales that have been picked up along the river mouth. The huge pile of boxes and furniture, and bags of cottonseed are being carried, one piece at a time, by a long stream of lazy darkles, over the gangplank Into the bowels of tlie big boat. There some laborers, returning by way of tlie stage plank nt the prow, roll out before them the cotton bales and pile them In rows some distance up the levee. Above the din of wheels rumbling over the rough pavement, drivers shout to their stupid mules. There are picturesque oaths and snatches of melody. Escaping steam, shrill whistles, the creaking of loading and unloading freight, and the bellowing of overseers, who are. as a rule, active darkles, with monstrous lungs and an inexhaustible supply of big words, mingle In busy confusion.— Aluslee’s Magazine. Mr. Glad«:one‘« Courtesy. Tlie following little story illustrative of Mr. Gladstone’s courtesy. Is fresh to us. It comes to us from an old resident of Llanfairfechan. The incident oc curred at Penmenmnwr, in the summer of 1890. About 1.200 feet up the moun tain is a small farmstead. Pen Penmaen. at which resided a woman over 70 years old, who brought her weekly stock of provisions in a large basket np the steep ascent from Llanfairfec- han village. One hot Saturday, soon after beginning her upward climb, she sat down to rest. Mr. Gladstone, seeing her. entered Into conversation. She chatted freely, and detailed the con tents of her basket. He lifted It, and, finding it heavy, offered to carry it for her. The offer was accepted, and the vet eran statesman bore the basket load to the white-washed farm cottage, near the summit. A party of tourists ap proaching from the Druid's Circle path respectfully saluted Mr. Gladstone, who. having set the heavy loatl down at the old woman's door, strode vigorously across the mountain path to Penmaen- tnawr. “Did you know that was Mr. Gladstone who carried your bnsket for you?" inquired one of th« party. "No, indeed; I don't know Mr. Gladstone,” replied the old woman, “but I know that Is a kind gentleman, whoever he is."—- London Chronicle. Hebrews in the British AYmy. It is interesting to note that among the troops mustered Into the service by tlie British war office are several rompanles composed exclusively of He brews. In Bombay there are two com panies of Hebrew soldiers, and the ar my register shows that thousands of Hebrews have enlisted in the British army iu recent years.—St. Louis Re public. For-gn Ore« for America. Two hundred thousand tons of iron ore and 150.000 tons of copper ore have Ixx'n bought in foreign countries for shipment to Philadelphia during th« coming year, and more than 200 sblpa will be required to transport the car- go«»s. The ores come chiefly from Spain, Cuba and the mines on the Orinoco. Bread Baking in France. In France the bread Is baked la rolls about the size of a man s arm and font feet long. - -