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About The Yamhill County reporter. (McMinnville, Or.) 1886-1904 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 14, 1900)
out for England. Here they despised the gayeties of the social set they were Glimpit s of His Life There from the entitled to enter and continued their Pen of u British Writer. work in the Sulvation Army, winning One of the most discussed political high praise from Gen. Booth for their figures in the last campaign was Rich zeal and efficiency. They return to the ard Croker, boss of Tammany Hall, who United States to continue their chosen sailed for Europe after it was all over work for a time. Whether or not they to take the waters of Carls will remain permanently has not yet bad for the benefit of his been determined. If the work here shall health. In England, where be spends seem to require their services they will a portion of each year, Mr. Croker is stay; if England offers a more promis well known, and the following account ing field for their endeavors they wlll^ of his life there, taken from Black and return there. In any event they are • White, will be read with Interest by determined that they will not forsakttT Americans. the army in the days of their pros It is now more than five years, says perity. the writer, since Richard Croker came DICK CROKER IN ENGLAND. X C3 c may Eflarnfflim Tlhajirmlom E^lbe r 1 MISAPPROPRIATING A SMILE. I was seated in tlie corner of a ear, When I got a most excruciating jar— Not tile ordinary kind To which gripmi*n are inclined, But a jolt that ahocked me more than that by far. From adown the aisle a fascinating girl Set my aenaeti in an amatory whirl. When she turned a pretty smile Toward my corner, and the while Showed the tips of teeth that glistened as the pearl. I’ responded with a twinkle of my eye (’Tin a little trick I studied, by the by), And although i passed my street, Still I kept my corner seat. For the hope within my heart was run ning high. Then it was 1 got the dolorlflc jar; Just behind me, on the platform of the cur, Stood the man at whom, *twas plain, She was smiling through the pane, And I’d ridden half a mile or more too fa r. — Life •«•««••••«•••«••«»««•••••J * s • A Walk with Ishbei. $ : • DON’T mind talking to yon, you know,” said ishbei she lnsiats on living spelled Hint way “because yon lire not a stupid boy ami yon have a nice detached point of view, but you must promise when I tell you tilings not to imagine 1 mean myself.” "llow could I imagine you a tiling?” I asked reproachfully. "You know what I mean," said Ish bei with severity. “When 1 was quite young,” alie pursued she is 22—"1 used to faucy that authors put themselves Into their stories. Now I know they never <lo.” “Well, 1 am not quite young,” 1 said crossly. “Go on." “But you didn’t promise." “I promised.” Ishbei adjusted her hatpin. "Once there was a girl.” she began, "who at the age of 17 was sent to England to visit her father'« people. That's rather a nice beginning. Isn’t it?” she inter rupted herself. “It sounds as if it might be print. Do you think if you saw a story with a beginning like that you would rend tt ?” "Candidly?" 1 Inquired. “Of course.” “I don't think I should." There was a dangerous glitter In her eye. “But,” I hastened to add, "reading a story Is very different to have you tell It. you know. I could llsteu to you for a thousand years.'' She was mollified. "It won’t take that long," she assured me with a smile. There I» uo word for her smile but de licious. "Do go on,” I said. "Did she like the people?' "Well, some of them,” doubtfully. “You see they were English and she was an American.” “Yes.” "And and young, they bullied her a little. The next time," with animation. "I mean, when we go over, 1 dou’t think they’ll bully me.” "1 don't fancy they will.” "And so you see she didn't have as good a time as she might exactly But she did have a love affair.” "Oh.” said 1. "Yes." said lahbcl. “He was a sort of distant connection of her«, a lawyer, what they call over there a solicitor, you know. He- she said he was very much In love—and so was «he.” "Confound"—I began. "1 beg your panlen." said Ishbei. “1 meant,” I «aid. sternly. "It Is very H wrong of deterimentals to make love to girls.’ "It is,” agreed Ishbei. “But he was very—oh, very honorable. Things had gone, well, they had gone rather far, you know, but the week before she sailed, when he proposed at least he didn’t exactly propose, but he told her he had only 300 a year, and that, of course, It was out of the question in England to marry on that, and he couldu't bear the idea of hampering her with a long engagement and—what did you say?” "Oil, nothing.” “Are you sure? You put me out. Well, he said she musn't be engaged to him, but tie would hold himself engaged to her, and some dlty when the senior partner dropped off—I do wish,” petu lantly, “you wouldn’t mutter like that.” 1 groveled. "Where was I?” demanded Ishbei. “Oh, well, then they said good-by, you know, and she was perfectly miserable - if you look so horribly cross 1 shall send you home—oh, dreadfully miser able. She felt that she didn't care a straw about other men, and there were —she said there were some very nice men In the steamer coming home, too. Balls and parties had no attraction for her, and fancy, for ever so long she hardly took any interest in her frocks. Oil, it was horrid. She only lived for his letter«—and somehow they—well, they were not exactly satisfactory. She supposed it was because he was so very honorable, and they were not real ly engaged, you know. But one day she thought It all over and decided that sort of tiling would have to come to an end. She knew she would never be happy for a moment till he came out, as she knew he would some day. to claim her, but she made up her mind to stop thinking about him as much as possible and try to seem happy, no mat ter how perfectly miserable she was In reality. The idea was, you see—I think she got it out of a poem to lock his image up In her heart.” “I see,” said I. “And how did it work?” “It worked very well,” said Ishbei, reflectively. "She knew she was wrenched, but she didn't allow herself to thing about it.” “And what happened?” I asked brisk ly- “Well, after three years be came.” “Oil, he did?’ "Of course," said Ishbei sharply. "Did you Imagine he didn’t?” 1 coughed. "And she unlocked ber heart?” "Yes," said Ishbei. "And the Image-----' "It's a very odd thing.’ replied Ishbei, slowly, “but It wasn’t there.” 1 caughed again. "Was her heart— did she tlnd the receptacle—er-empty?” 1 asked. "She didn’t tell me that,” «aid Ish bei. We walked on. “So that,” 1 re marked, presently, "was the reason why that long legged English fel low----- ” "But you promised,” cried Ishbei.— Boston Post. RAFTERS OF LIVING GREEN. Description in “Eben Holden” of I» m t . in the Cornfield« a We climbed the wall as he ate, and burled ourselves in the deep corn. The fragrant, silky tassels brushed my face and the corn hissed at our Intrusion, crossing its green sabers In our path. Far in the field my companion heaped a little of the soft earth for a pillow, spread the oilcloth between rows, and as we lay down drew the big shawl over us. Uncle Eb was tired after the toil of that night anti went asleep al most as soon as lie was down. Before I dropped off Fred catue and licked my face amt stepped over me. his tall wagging for leave, and curled upon the shawl at my feet 1 could see no sky in Lover (ardently)—1 love the very ground you walk on. Heiress—Ah! I thought it was my estates you were af ter.—Tit-Bits. I'arke—“I’ve just had my telephone taken out.” Lane—“What for?” Parks —"My next door neighbor put one In.”— Harper’s Bazar. Bad Times.—“He has always run his business like clockwork.” "Yes, and now his creditors have wound it up.”— Philadelphia Bulletin. Mrs. Bicker—There you go again! You always were a fault-finder. Mr. Bicker —Sure; and 1’11 never forget the day I found you.—Chicago News. The Bachelor—"Single-blessedness is a good thing.” The Benedict—"Well, isn't double blessedness twice as good?”—Yonkers Statesman. .Justice—“What were you doing in Colonel Pullet’s chicken coop?” Uncle Mose—"Fo’ de Lawd, judge, I was jes takiu’ de census.”—Harlem Life. Snarley—“You don't have to be an artist to draw a check.” Yow—“No, but you have to be a royal academician to get it cashed.”—Syracuse Herald. “It is claimed that the Dowager Em press of China started in life as a ser vant-girl.” “No wonder they stand in awe of her.”—Cleveland Plain Dealer. “Would you start out on a journey on Friday?” “No, indeed.” “Why are people so superstitious?” “I’m not su perstitious, I am paid on Saturday.”— Answers. She—“I wonder why it is that so many old maids have fat bank ac counts?” He—"Probably for lack of anything else, they husband their re sources.”—Brooklyn Life. “How did you ever happen to marry him?” "Why, be made me mad.” “Mad? How?” "He acted as if he didn’t think I would and rather hoped I wouldn’t.”—Chicago Post. “What is that quiet, inoffensive little man over there in the corner?” “In offensive? Say, don’t you start him up; he’s the professor who is master of eight languages.”—Chicago Record. On the Contrary: Vane Glory—1 hope Swainstou said nothing about me the other night, old chap? Cecil Swarve— Not a word, old man; in fact, we had quite an interesting little chat.—Judy. “Mr. Hardcase,” said the minister, “I saw your son in a saloon yesterday.” “Did you?” replied Mr. Hardcase; “I hope he had the politeness to ask you to have something.”—Philadelphia Rec ord. City Nephew—“What do you think of Dr. Pillsbury as a physician?” Farmer Hayroob—“Safest doctor any where in this part of the country— nearly always off flshin’ when he’s wanted.”—Judge. Hoax—Why is the merchant who doesn't advertise like a man in a row boat? Joax—Because he goes back ward, I suppose. Hoax—No; because he has to get along without sales.— Philadelphia Press. Warwick—England keeps getting friendlier than ever to us since she got into trouble with the Transvaal. Wick wire—Yes; she now claims that she sympathized with us in our war with the Hessians last century.—Judge. A Long-sought Friend: Christian Sci entist-First. you must eliminate fear. Witherby—Have you no fear? Christian Scientist—None whatver. Witherby— Then you’re just the one I’m looking for. Come and help me discharge my cook.—Life. Fairlie—Jack, have you that ten pounds I lent you the other day? Flyntie—Not all of it, old chap; but what I have will do me a day or two longer. Jolly kind and thoughtful of you to Inquire, though.—Glasgow Even ing Times. that gloomy green aisle of corn. This going to bed in the morning seemed a foolish business to me that day and I lay a long time looking up at the rus tling canopy overhead. I remember list ening to the waves that came whisper ing out of the further Held, nearer and nearer, until they swept over us with a roaring splash of leaves, like that of water flooding among rocks, as I have heard it often. A twinge of homesick ness came to me and the snoring of Uncle Eb gave me no comfort. I re member covering my head and crying softly as I thought of those who had gone away and whom I was to meet in a far country, called heaven, whither we were going. I forgot my sorrow finally In sleep. When I awoke It had grown dusk under the corn. I felt for Uncle Eb and he was gone. Then I called to him. "Hush, boy! lie low!” he whispered, bending over me, a sharp look In his eye. “ ’Frald they’re after us.” He sat kneeling beside me, holding Fred by the collar and listening. I could hear voices, the rustle of the corn and the tramp of feet near by. It was thun dering in the distance—that heavy, shaking thunder that seems to take hold of the earth, and there were sounds In the corn like the drawing of sabers and the rush of many feet. The noisy thunder clouds came nearer, ami the voices that made us tremble were no longer heard. Uncle Eb began to fasten the oil blanket to the stalks of corn for a shelter. The rain came roar ing over us. The sound of ft was like that of a host of cavalry coming as a gallop. We lay bracing the stalks, the blanket tied above us. and were quite dry for a time. The rain rattled in the sounding sheaves and then came flood ing down the steep gutters. Above us beam and rafter creaked, swaying and allowing glimpses of the dark sky. The rain passed—we could hear the last battalion leaving the field—and then the tumult ended as suddenly as It liegan. The corn trembled a few mo ments and hushed to a faint whisper. “Don’t you find that Mr. AsteFs Then we could hear only the drip of poems,” said the young poet’s mis raindrops leaking through the green guided admirer, “are full of words that ’oof. It was dark under the corn. burn?’ “Well, no,” replied the editor, “I never put them to that test; I merely She Knew. Marjorie Is the small and only daugh drop them In the waste basket.”—Phil ter In a family which boasts of several adelphia Press sons. Aged four Is Marjorie, petite and "Don’t you get tired,” said the talka imperious and enjoying excellent op tive customer, "standing there hour by portunities for liecoming spoiled. She hour Ironing one stiff-bosomed shirt has lately attained to the dignity of the after the other?" “No,” answered the kindergarten and conies home daily Chinese laundryman. “It rests me to with some fresh acquisition of wisdom. think I don’t have to wear them.”— A few days ago It was addition, and Washington Star. she proclaimed proudly at the dinner ‘There is safety in numbers,” said the table: trite conversationalist. “There is,” an “1 know how much two and two swered the man who talks on politics; make and free and two and four and "if you can't convince a man by your two.” argument you can always silence him “And what,” said her father, "do by quoting a lot of statistics that he you and 1 «take, Marjle?” knows absolutely nothing about.”— Without a moment’s hesitation over Washington Star. these new factors in her problem, the “What did you expect to prove by little maid auswered, with a dimple and that exceedingly long-winded argu a smile: ment of yours?” asked the friend. "I "Sweethearts.” didn’t expect to prove anything,” an And all the family were satisfied swered the orator. “All I hope to do with MarJIe's arithmetic. was to confuse the other fellow so that he couldn’t prove that I didn’t prove Work and Atmosphere. During the building of a railroad in anything "—Washington Star. The Duly Way: Mrs. Dimpleton—My Switzerland, at an altitude of ten thou sand feet, the discovery has l>een made dear, it is being reported around that that the atmosphere Is so rarifled that we owe everybody. Dasha way—And men employe»! upon the work cannot the worst of it is. it’s true: so what are continue their labors for half so long a you going to do about it? Mrs. Dimple time as Is possible when working In a ton Do? Why, we must correct such lower atmosphere. The cold also may an Impression Immediately by giving have something to do with It. for. as an elaborate dinner party.—I.ife. every one knows, the atmosphere be Blanche—'I wish you'd listen to this. comes colder and colder the greater dis Laura writes to have me bunt up liter tance It 1« above the surface of the ary information for her club paper on earth. Were It not for the atmosphere. no less than seven topics.” Dorothy— Indeed, the ordinary temperature of the "Dear me! What will you do?" world would be below zero to the ex Blanche—"Oh. I won't find time to an tent of three hundred degree« Fahren swer the letter until after «he has don* heit needing the information.”— Indlanapolla Journal. A rolling pin gather* no dough. A REMARKABLE ORCHARD. It la Over 122 Years Old and la Still Bearing Fruit. RICHARD CROKER. over here to try his fortunes on the En glish turf and chose for his residence the old Moat House at Letcombe, near Wantage, Berks. People who only know Mr. Croker as the leader of Tam many Hall would be amazed at the quietness and utter lack of ostentation which characterize ids life at Letcombe. A man of medium stature, with iron- gray hair, beard and mustache, and a strong American accent, he is often to be seen during the summer mouths, rid ing or driving in the neighborhood of Wantage, and anyone who has had the fortune to drive with Mr. Croker is not likely to forget it, for be goes down some of the steep Berkshire hills at a furious pace in ills buggy, slashing vig orously with his whip all the time. He will drive a good horse, and that means a yery fast trotter, and if a horse he has bought does not please him, no matter what the cost of it, it is just sold for what it will fetch. A most extraordinary love for ani mals is one of his characteristics and he had at the Moat House live bulldogs, several prize cats and live St. Bernard dogs. Two of the bulldogs, Rodney Stone—the champion of the world and for which he paid $5,000—and Bromley Crib he took back to America with him, taking first-class passage for both. To the local charities, the writer con tinues, he is a liberal subscriber. On Sunday mornings he usually drives over to Hendred, a village six miles distant, to the Roman Catholic Church, and in the afternoons he generally goes to see over his stables and farm. He is a man of immense physical strength, and on one occasion when some men were try ing to lift a seven-foot flywheel on to a dynamo, but seemed to have a diffi culty in doing so, Mr. Croker got up and put his shoulder under one of the spokes and lifted it himself on to the crank shaft. The. tiger’s head, with open mouth and tfeth showing, which Is the badge or coat-of-arms of Tammany, is to be seen here and there in the Moat House. In the drawing room it appears on various menu cards which were used at the great Tammany banquets. The New York papers are a source of infalling interest to him, and he is often much amused at the cartoons of him self. ONE OF BOOTH'S SOLDIERS. Americnn Noblewomnn a Worker in the Salvation Army. The Countess of Tankervllle, one of the most devoted members of Gen. William Booth’s Salvation Army. Is now in tills country and is accompanied by her husband, who was also a mem ber of tlie Salvation Army at Tacoma, Wash., where the two first became ac- When Lord Howe landed in Cecil County on his way to capture Philadel phia a number of Friends, from their supposed sympathy with the invading army, were arrested by the Americans and sent to Winchester, Va„ as polit ical prisoners. Many of them being of the most respectable and wealthy citi zens of the above-named city, they were not long in Winchester before the officers in charge of them, finding them to be men of honor and truth, paroled them on condition that the Friends of the neighborhood would board them free of expense to the then ruling power, says a writer in the Baltimore Sun. Among those who took them I mention Lewis Neale, Abram Hollings worth and Jsaac aud David Brown, whose descendants are still living around Winchester. Isaac Brown, great-grandfather of the writer, had three of thp exiled Friends at his home, three miles north of Win chester. While they were with him in the spring of 1778 they planted an or chard with apple trees. Ever since then the orchard has been bearing fruit, and I send you a few of the ap ples from the orchard on the farm now owned and occupied by two grand daughters of Isaac Brown, Ellsau aud Catherine Brown, cousins of the writer, who annually send me a box of the apples as a reminder of tlit* many happy days of youth spent with them over three-score aud more years ago. The same house occupied by tlie Friends is still occupied by the present owners. In the Historical library can be found the diary of the exiled Friends at Win chester. which contains the correspon dence their wives liad with Gen. Wash ington when they applied to him for their release. He declined upon the ground that they were state prisoners aud were beyond his control. The Gilpins, Whartons, Pembertons. Fishers, Drinkers, Penningtons and other well-known citizens of Philadel phia are the descendants of the Quakers spoken of above. Highland Venison. Most of the red deer venison which finds its way to London Is Scotch wild venison, shot in the forests^ '' is great difference in quality in this highland venison. To be good, venison needs to be fat, and unlike most game the "artificially fed” deer, or, rather, the deer that enjoys the feed of a good English park, is better for the table , than when picking up a hard living on a Scotch mountain, but there are varie ties of Scotch deer. Those on forests with plenty of low ground attached grow fat aud heavy, and the meat is as good as that of an English park-fed stag. At the end of October and be ginning of November the flesh deterior ates rapidly and Is rank and poor, evi dence, if any were needed, that the shooting ought to have closed earlier, but a good deal of Russian venison, shipped ready and cut up into joints, is very poor stuff. The same rules as to season govern the supply of red deer venison from English parks, but the weight and quality of the latter are su perior to the Scotch. Most large pro prietors find a sale for their spare veni son near home, aud consequently it Is less common in the market. Red deer hinds are again in season in winter, but the fallow venison is in every way bet ter. Some is even stall fed, and the car casses show almost as much fat as does small mutton. Just in Time. A circus paid a flying visit to a small northern town not long ago, and the price of admission was sixpence, chil dren under 10 years of age half-price. It was Edith’s tenth birthday, and her brother Tom, aged 13, took her in the afternoon to see the show. Arrived at the door he put down nine- pence and asked for two front seats. “How old is the little girl?” asked the money-taker, doubtfully. “Well ” replied Master Tom, “this is her tenth birthday, but she was not born until rather late In the afternoon.” The money-taker accepted the state ment, and handed him the tickets. But it was a close shave.—London Spare Moments. When Eugenie Led the Fashion. corm« or TAVKrnvir.t.z. In her day Empress Eugenie was the leader of fashion and ber pin money for dress was fabulous Her feet and bands were so small that her maids who bad her shoes and gloves as per-f quisites could find no market for. them, so they were presented by the empress every year to the orphans of the Eu genie Napoleon asylum, where fifty fatherless and motherless girls were educated at her cost. All the whlte^ shoes and white gloves which those girls wore at their first communion were those which had been worn by the empress. * quaiuted aud were married. At that time the Earl of Tankerville was third in succession to the title. The Countess was Miss I-enora Van Marter. a resi dent of Tacoma, and it was while en gaged in army work there that she at tracted the Earl’s notice. He was so smitten by her rare beauty that he abandoned the gay life he was leading in order to be near her. Tcgether they Population of the British Isles. worked for many months in the streets The census will be taken on the last of Tacoma, doing good to all with day of March, 1901. Ten years ago, whom they came tn contact Finally when the last census took place, th« the young man. by the death of rela population of the United Kingdom was tives. came into possession of his es 37.740.283. The registrar general esti tates and title. He at once married the mates the- present population at «q,. t .'iing army lass and together they set 931.47L