THE SPENDERS A Tale of theTIM Generation By HARRY LEON WILSON 9 m - Copyright, by Lothxop Publishing Company. I CHAPTER III.--CONTINUKD. The old man, sole defender of tlie virtuous and stalwart west against an east that he alleged to be effete and depraved, had now resorted to sar casm--a thing that Mr. C&rlyle thought was as good a* the language of the deviL "And here, now, how abo»t this dog-luncheon?" he continued, glancicg at a New York newspaper clutched accusingly in his hand. "It was give, f see, by one of your Newport cronies. Now, that's healthy doin's fur a' two- fisted Christian, ain't it? I want to know. Shappyronging a select com pany of lady and gentlemen dogs from «oup to coffee; pressing a little more . of the dog-biscuit on this one, and seein' that the other don't misplay i.» finger-bowl no way. How I would lore to read of a Bines standin' up, air in * purty velvet pants, most 'likely, to re ceive at one of them bow-wow func tions--functions, I believe, is the name /of it?" he ended, in polite inquiry. "There, there, Uncle Peter!" the .young man broke in, soothingly; "you mustn't take those Sunday newspapers as gospel truth; those stories are print ed for just such rampant old tender foots as you are; and even if there is one foolish freak, he doesn't represent all society in the better sense of the term." "Yes, and you!" Uncle Peter broke out again, reminded of another griev ance. "You know well enough your true name is Peter--Pete and Petie wnen you was a baby, and Peter when you left for college. And you're ashamed of what you've done, too, for you tried to hide them callin' cards from me the other day, only ygu wa'n't -quick enough. Bring 'em out! I'm bound your mother and Pish shall see 'em. Out with 'em!" The young man, not without embar rassment; drew forth a Russia leather card case which the old man took from him as one having authority. "Here you are, Marthy Bines!" he exclaimed, handing her a card; "here you are! read it! 'Mr. P. Percival Bines.' Now don't you feel proud of havin' sCuck out for Percival when you eee it in cold print? You know mighty well his pa and me agreed to Percival only fur a middle name, jest to please you--and he wa'n't to be called by it; only jest Peter or 'Peter P.' at most; and now look at the way he's gone and garbled his good name." Mr. P. Percival Bines blushed fu riously here, but rejoined nevertheless, with quiet dignity, that a man's name was something about which he should have the ruling voice, especially where it was possible for him to rectify or conceal the unhappy choice of his par ents, "And while we're on .names," he continued, "do try to remember in case you ever get among people, that Sis' same is Psyche, and not Pish." The blond and complacent Miss Bines here moved uneasily in her pat ent blue plush rocker and spoke for the first time, with a grateful glance at her brother. "Yes, Uncle Peter, for mercy's sake, do try! Don't make' us a laughing stock!" "But your name is Pish. A person's came is what their folks name 'em, ain't it? Your ma comes acrost a name in a book that she likes, the looks of, and she takes it to spell Pish, and she ups and names you Pish, and we all calls you Pish and Pishy, and then when you toddle off to publfc school and let 'em know how you spell it they tell you it's something else-- an outlandish name if spellin' means anything. If it comes to that you ought to change the spellin' instead of the name that your poor pa loved."" Yet the old man had come to know that he was fighting a lost fight--lost before it had ever begun. "It will be a good chance," ventured Mrs. Bines, timidly, "for Pishy--I mean Slke--Sicky--to meet the right •ort of people." "Yes, I should say--and the wrong •ort. The ingagin' host of them lady and gentlemen dogs, fur instance." "But, Uncle Peter," broke in the young man, "you shouldn't expect a #iri of Psyche's beauty and fortune to vegetate in Montana City all her life. Why. any sort of brilliant marriage is possible to her if she goes among the «ight people. Don't you want the fam ily to amount to something socially? (s our money to do us no good? And 4o you think I'm going to stay here And be a mossback and raise chin whis kers and work myself to death the way any father did?" ^'No, no," replied the old man, with a glance at the mother; "not jest the way your pa did; you n^ight do some ^liferent and some better; but all the .fame, you won't do any better'n he did any way you'll learn to live in New York. Unless you was to go broke (there," he added, thoughtfully; "in that case you got the stuff in you and it'd come out; but you got too much money to go broke." "And you'll see that I lead a decent enough life. Times have changed aince my father was a young man." "Yes; that's what your pa told me-- times had changed since I was a young man; but I could 'a' done him £ood if he'd 'a' listened." "Well, we'll try it. The tide is set ting that way from all over lue coun- „<r y." "Well, now do me a last favor be fore you pike off east," pleaded the 4Ad man. "Make a trip with me over Che properties. . See 'em once anyway, 4^nd see a little more of this country *pd these people. Mebbe they're bet ter'n you think. Give me about three weeks or a month, and then, by Crim- im, you'can go off if you're set on it a&d be 'whatever is finest and best in the American character,' as some feller futs it. But some day, son, you'll find «Ut there's a whole lot of difference between a great man of wealth and a man of great wealth. Them last Is jnttin' terrible common." So the old man and the young mas made the round of the Bines proper ties. The former nursed a forlorn little hope of exciting an. interest in the concerns most vital him; to the latter the leisurely tour in the pri- vate car was a sportive prelude to the serious business of life, as it should be lived, in the east. Considering it as such he endured it amiably, and in deed the long August days and the sharply cool nights were not without real enjoyment for him. They awoke one morning to find the car on a siding at the One Girl mine. Coupled to it was another car from an eastern road that their train had taken on some time in the night Per cival noted the car with interest as he paced beside the track in the cool, clear air before breakfast. The cur tains were drawn, and the only signs of life to be observed were at the kitchen end, where the white-clad cook could be seen astir. Grant, por ter on the Bines car, told him the other car had been taken on at Kaslo Junc tion, and that it belonged to Rulon Shepler, the New York financier, who was aboard with a party of friends. As Percival and Uncle Peter left their car for the shaft house after breakfast, the occupants of the other car were bestirring themselves. From one of the open windows a low but impassioned voice was ex hausting the current idioms of damna tion in sweeping dispraise of all land areas north and west of Fifty-ninth street. New York. Uncle Peter smiled grimly. Percival flushed, for the hidden prot&tant had uttered what were his own sentiments a month before. Reaching the shaft house they chat ted with Pangburn, the superintend ent, and then went to the store room to don blouses and overalls for a descent into the mine. For an hour they stayed under ground, traversing the various levels and drifts, while Pangburn explained the later developments of the vein and showed them where the new stoping had been begun. CHAPTER IV. A MEETING AND A CLASHING As they stepped from the cage at the surface Percival became aware of group of strangers between him and the open door of the shaft hou.se-- people displaying in dress and manner the unmistakable stamp of New York. For part of a minute, while the pupils of his eyes were contracting to the light, he saw them but vaguely. Then as his sight cleared, he beheld fore most in the group, beaming upon him with an expression of pleased and sur prised recognition, the girl whose face and voice had for nearly half a year peopled his lover's solitude with fair visions and made its silenfce to be all melody. Had the encounter been anticipated his composure would perhaps have failed him. rfot a few of his waking dreams had sketched this, their second "WHY, MR.--" meeting, and any one of the ways it had pleased him to plan it would as suredly have found him nervously em barrassed. But so wildly improbable was this reality that not the daringest of his imagined happenings had ap proached it. His thoughts for the mo ment had been not of her; then, all at once, she stood before him in the flesh, and he was cool, almost un moved. He suspected at once that her father was the trim, fastidiously dressed man who looked as if he had been abducted from a morning stroll down the avenue to his club; that the plump, ruddy, high-bred woman, sur veying the west disapprovingly through a lorgnon, would be her mother. Shep ler he knew by sight, with his big head, massive shoulders and curious ly short, tapering body. Some other men and a woman were scanning the hoisting machinery with superior looks. The girl, before starting toward him, had waited hardly longer than it took him to eye the group. And then came an awkward two seconds upon her whose tact in avoiding the awk ward was reputed to be more than common. With her hand extended she had ut tered: "Why, Mr.--" before it flashed upon her that she did not know the name of the young man she was greet ing. The "Mister" was threatening to prolong itself into an "r" of excruciat ing length and disgraceful finality, an "r" that is terminated neatly by no one but hardened hotel clerks. Then a miner saved the day. "Mr. Bines,' he said, coming ftp hur riedly behind Percival with several specimens of ore, "you forgot these." "-r-r-r. Bines, how do you do!" con cluded the girl with an eye-flash of gratitude at the humble instrument that had prevented an undue* hiatus in her salutation. They were apart from the others and for the moment unnoticed. The young man took the hand so cordially offered, and because of all the things he wished and had so long waJtM to say, he said nothing. "Isn't it jolly! I am Miss Milbrey," she added in a lower tone, and then, raising her voice, "Mamma, Mr. Bines --and papa," and there followed a hur ried and but half-acknowledged Intro duction to the other members of the party. And, behold! in that moment the young man had scheme J the edi fice of all his formless dreams. For six months he had known the unsur passable luxury of wanting and of knowing \&at he wanted. Now, all at once, he saw this to be a world in which dreams come more than true. Shepler and the party were to go through the mine as a matter of sight seeing. They were putting on outer clothes from the store room to protect them from the dirt and damp. Presently Percival found himself again, at the bottom of the shaft Dur ing the descent of 1,200 feet he had reflected upon the curious and inter esting fact that her name should be Milbrey. He felt' dimly that this cir cumstance should be ranked among the most interesting of natural phe nomena--that she should have a name, as the run of mprtals, and that it should be one name more than an other. When he discovered further that her Christian name was Avlce the phenomenon became ^stupendously be wildering. They two were in the last of the party to descend. On reaching bottom he separated her with promptness and guile from two solemn young men, copies of each other, and they were presently alone. In the distance they could see the others following ghostly lamps. From far off mysterious re cesses came the . musical clink of the sledges on the drills. An employe who had come down with them Started to be their guide, Percival sent hipi back. "I've just been through; I can find my way again." "Ver' well," said the man, "with the exception that it don't happen some thing--yes?" And he stayed where he was. Down one of the crosscuts they .started, stepping aside to let a car of ore be pushed along to the shaft "Do you know," began the girl, "I am so glad to be able to thank you for what you did that night." "I'm glad you are able. I was be ginning to think I should always have those thanks owing to me." "I might have paid them at the time, but it was all so unexpected and so sudden--it rattled me, quite." "I thought you were horribly cool> headed." "I wasn't" "Your manner reduced me to a groom who opened your carriags door." "But grooms don't often pick strange ladies up bodily and bear them out of a pandemonium of waltzing cab horses. I'd never noticed before that cab horses are so frivolous and hysterical." "And grooms know where to look for their pay." They were interrupting nervously, and bestowing furtive side looks upon each other. "If I'd not seen you," said the girl, "glanced at you--before--that evening, I shouldn't have remembered so Well; doubtless I'd* not have recognized you to-day." "I didn't know you did glance at me, and yet I watched you every moment of the evening. You didn't know that, did you?" She laughed. "Of course I knew it A woman has to note such things w.thout letting it be seen that she Bees." "And I'd have sworn you never once so much as looked my way." "Don't we do it well, though?" "And in spite of all the time I gave to a study of your face, 1 lost the de tail of it I could keep only the effect of its expression and the few tones of your voice I heard. You know I took those on a record so I couu make 'em play ever any time I wanted to listen. Do you know, that has all been very sweet to me, my helping you and the memory of it--so vague and sweet' "Aren't you afraid we're losing the others?" She halted and looked back. "No; I'm afraid we won't lose them; come on; you can't turn back now. And you don't want to hear anything about mines; it wouldn't be at all good for you, I'm sure. Quick, down this way, or you'll hear Pangburn telling some one what a stope is, and think what a thing that would be to carry in your head." Really, a stope sounds like some thing that would 'get you' in the night! I'm afraid!" Half in his spirit she fled with him down a dimly lighted Incline where men were working at the rocky wall with sledge and drill. There was that in his manner which compelled her quite as- literally as when at their first meeting he had picked her up in his arms. As they walked single file through the narrowing of a drift, she wondered about htm. He was western, plainly. An employe in the mine, probably a manager or director or whatever "It was they called those in authority in mines. Plainly, too. he was a man of action and a man who engaged all her instinctive liking. Something in him at once coerced her friendliest confi dence. These were the admissions she made to herself. She divined him, moreover, to be a blend of boldness and timidity. He was bold to the point of telling her things unconventionally, of beguiling her into remote under ground passages away from the party; yet she understood; she knew at onc« that he was a determined but unspoiled gentleman; that under no provocation could he make a mistake. In any sit uation of loneliness she would have felt safe with him--"as with a brother* --she thought. Then, feeling her cheeks burn, she turned back and said; I must tell you he was my brother --that man--that night" He was sorry and glad all at once. The sorrow being the lesser and mora conventional emotion, he started up an awkward expression of it, which she interrupted. Never mind saying that, thank yon. Tell me something about your self, now. I really would like to know you. What do you see and hear and do in this strange life?" "There's not much variety," he an« swered, with a convincing droop of ae* pression. "For six months r've been seeing y{*u and hearing you--seeing you and hearing you; not much variety in that--nothing worth telling yoq about" Despite her natural caution, lntensi- "fied by training, she felt herself thrill to the very evident sincerity of his tones, so that she had to affe«* to seem at ease. tyo BS coanrutusu). Anthem in Which Americans All Join m V\\;; > u i- iT^ ̂ c ,\Y> > .v ^ % h m v 8 a vriowt CJ.O0E OtMOMAr Oh! say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming. Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro' the perilous fight-- O'er the ramparts we watched--were so gallantly streaming; And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there. Oh! say, does that star-spangled banner still wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? Washington's Sad Fourth of July Day Witnessed His Surrender of Fort Necessity to the French. It was the 4th day of July, 1754, 22 years before the Declaration of In dependence made the day ever fa mous. The light of early morning shone upon a strange scene in the wilderness of western Pennsylvania. A force of 600 Frenchmen and 100 Indians was camped around a rude stockade a little to the southeast and not far from the present city of Pitts burg. They were commanded by Coulon de Villiers, a young French man, the commandant of Fort Du- quesne, who had sworn vengeance against the English for the death of his brother, Jumonville, who had fall en in a skirmish a few days before. Besides, he was pledged to make good the French boast that no English flag should wave west of the Alleghenies. In the fort a little force numbering less than half the number of the French and Indians had held out for one long day and six hours of the night against the attack of their vengeful and overpowering foe. Before we relate the story of Fort Necessity, however, it will be well to refgr to the causes which led to this Fourth of July episode. At the commencement of the French and Indian war it was determined by the English, for the better protection of their interests, to build a fort at the junction of the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers, on the present Bite of Pittsburg. A body of troops was accordingly dispatched by Gov. Dinwiddle of \irglnia to accomplish this object The death of their colonel cn the march threw the command it,to the hands of the second officer, a till Vir ginian of 22, with brown hair and gray eyes, whose gravity of manner and careworn appearance bespoke even then the greatness he was to win. This Virginian youth was George Washington. Before he reached- the goal of his Journey, Washington learned from his scouts the futility of his errand. In stead of driving out the French, he and his command stood in a fair way of being themselves driven out if not altogether annihilated. The French had been improving the summer weather. They had captured the few English and built and manned a strong, fortress at the very place where the English expected to build one, and a French and Indian force of more than 1,000 men was thronging the adjacent forest. When within a days march of the new fort which the French had named Duquesne, after the governor of Can ada, Washington halted at a place called the Great Meadows and con structed a fortification of logs- and eartb, throwing up with his own hands the first shovelful of soil. To this rude stockade he gave the name of Fort Necessity. In It were placed the cannons which he had dragged with so great toil through the forest paths from Virginia. After a few days' rest, Washington went forward with a portion of his force to meet the Shawnee chief, Half King. A council was held and it was determined to make a night attacK upon the French. The scouts of the faithful Shawnee chief found the enemy s trail, and in the .darkness of a rainy night the English made a successful raid. Ju monville, the French leader, was killed, and several of his men fell prisoners into Washington's hands. He now fell back upon Fort Neces sity. His situation was a critical one. His men had but little ammunition, aqd no bread of any kind, haying lived for several days on fresh meat alone, and even this was not plentiful. They were much fatigued by their long and wearisome march and the provisions of the wilt! wood; and, worse than all, the walls of the rude fortification were hardly such as could be expected to sustain a siege from any large number of foes. Washington spent his single day of respite in strengthening his rampart with logs. On the m6rning of the 3d of July his scouts brought intelli gence of the advance of the French. Meanwhile the French and Indians, aaander the command of Coulon de Vil liers, had been holding a grand pow wow at Fort Duquesne. The "French father." had supplied his children lib erally with firearms and the where withal to eat and drink. The braves after consuming several oxen and drinking two barrels of wine, had expressed their willingness to march against the English and drive them across the Alleghenies. De Villiers set out on this- expedi tion. The way through the forest was a difficult one, and before they fleached Fort Necessity rain began to fall heav ily. But the French pressed on, and before noon of the 3d of July they were -firing upon Washington's de fenses. Their position was such, being upon higher ground, on two .slight eleva tions, and well sheltered by trees and bushes, that they could cross their fire upon the fort and enfilade a por tion of it, without themselves being exposed to much injury irom the Eng lish. The rain continued all that day and night, but the combatants^fought on. Washington's men stood knee-deep in the mud and water. Twice the fusil- ading partially subsided, and besieged and beleaguered gazed sullenly at each other through the thin gauze of mist and rain. • m At a little after nine o'clock in the evening the French commander called out for a parley. Waslffngton's fear of treachery led him to ignore the pro posal at first, but his position was so desperate that he complied the second time. Capt. Vanbraam, a Dutchman, the only person In his troop who could talk French, was sent to De Vlllier's camp. After a long preliminary talk the Frenchman wrote his terms of sur render by the flaring light of a pine- knot, the rain drops spattering upon the paper and rendering the writing almost illegible. The terms permitted Washington and his men tp march out with the honors of war, retaining their arm*, stores and baggage. Washington signed -the paper be tween midnight and one o'clock, and the rest of the night passed quietly, though the men remained under arms. At dawn of the Fourth of July the Great Meadows presented an animated scene. The morning was fair, and th« sun shone brightly over the damp, green forests and the . lofty ridge ol Laurel Hill. The horses and cattle belonging to the garrison had all been killed, and, burdened by the sick and wounded, whom they carried on their backs, the English were obliged to leave most ol their baggage and cannons behind: Slowly they filed out of the fort and began their slow and wearisome march for Wills Creek, the nearest English station, 52 miles over the Alleghenies. Sad must have been the neart ol Washington as he surveyed the scene. All his hopes of military glory seemed blighted in the bud, but whatever may have been his feelings, no word ol complaint or anger escaped his Hps. Without any doubt/ however, it was the darkest and most miserable morn ing in his life. He could not foresee the future, but on that other day, when the hell on the state house at Philadelphia was proclaiming the Declaration of Inde pendence far and wide, and jubilant crowds were shouting, and throwing up their hats at the glad tidings there of, Washington must have thought ol the time when he left the walls ol Fort Necessity, a defeated man and a fugitive.--Golden Days. JERRY'S SYSTEM. It Was Undoubtedly Good, But He Had 2fe* Got It lute Work ing Order, i Jerry came home from school full of a new idea. "The superintendent came in our room to-day," he told his mother, "and »w®8 talking about memories, and he said "some one a Long time "ago in vented having places to put things in, kind of like pigeonholes in father's desk; then, when you want anything out of them, you look in, and there jou are." 4 "Very good idea," said mother, "and you need something of the sort. Did you order the sugar and spice on the way home this neon, as I told you to this morning?" "No," said Jerry, blushing. "I for got. You see, mother, the system hasn't started up yet." "Well, you must go back now and get them," said his mother. "Before dinner?" asked Jerry, rue fully. "It will help you to remember next time," said mother. So Jerry, stopping only to get Solo mon, his pet land tortoise, ran back. He stopped for the mail, though, and there he-found a catalogue of football supplies for himself, and he studied that so long that the first school bell rairg before he started home. Then he went fiying. On the way he met Mrs. Nelson. > • ' • "Tell your father, Jerry, to come and see the baby this afternoon," she said. "He's very sick." "All right; I will," said Jerry. There was only time for a very lit tle dinner, and Jery put Solomon, the tortoise, down i^ the library, that led into his father's office. This was strictly forbidden, for Jerry's father waa a specialist in nerve diseases^-Md The system Isn't working yet, evi dently," mid his mother, gently, and trying not to laugh. Great-aunt Susan est down and asked for explanations. "Humph!" she said at Its conclu sion. "The best system I know of Is to think of something and some one, besides yourself!" And Jerry, after lie had put Solo mon in his room, as he dejectedly walked back to school, was bound to admit that she was right.--Boston Globe. iith: SOLOMON PAUSED IN DER. MILD WON* Solomon's way of suddenly and quiet ly appearing on the floor, or of trying to climb on a patient's lap, did not assist the owner of disordered nerves . toward recovery. But Jerry intended to get the tor toise after luncheon. Only, he forgot He also forgot about Mrs. Nelson, and, the mail for his father, which was in his overcoat pocket. He dashed off to school with his pre cious catalogue (which he remembered HE DASHED OFF TO SCHOOL. WITH HIS PRECIOUS CATALOGUE. to take) in his hand, and was almost late. Something, just as he was about to sit down, caused him to remember all three things at once, and he stood up In his seat frantically signaling to the teacher. - "Well, Jerry?" she asked. Jerry hardly waited for permission, but rushed home. „ A piercing shriek came from the li brary just as he opened the door. A very little old woman was standing in her chair, her eyes shut and with her skirts gathered tightly around her, while Solomon paused in mild wonder in his act of climbing up in the chair whereon she stood. Jerry grabbed him just as his father came in one door jtnd his mother in the other. „ "What's all this about?" asker his father, sternly. "Oh, father," said Jerry, bringing the mall out of his pocket. "Here's the mail, and I iorgot Solomon, and Mrs. Nelson's baby--and great aunt Susan was scared at Solomon." , "Solomon, indeed!" said great-aunt Susan, opening one eye. "The critter came walking up to me in a wr«y to scare the wits out of a graven image!',' WINNING THE "V. GS* A/ Exploit in the Zulu Country Which Placed Sir William Beresford in the Honored The recent jubilee in honor of founding of the Victoria cross brings to mind many instances of bravery which won that token of courage. Among the heroic exploits which gained the crass is that of Sir William Beresford, who won the trophy for a deed performed during the Zulu war. The incident is recalled by a writer In the English Illustrated Magazine. During an encounter the Zulus pre tended to flee--a well-calculated snare, as it. brought the pursuing British into a carefully prepared ambush. A long line of over 2,000 warriors suddenly sprang up, flanking the horsemen. Then the whole plain flashed into life. Hordes had been hiding in the grass. Buller's alert eye caught the danger instantly and his voice tang out with "Retire!" There was a quick volley of Zulu bullets, and three Englishmen went down. Beresford, looking back, saw one move Into a sitting posture. He who would extend succor at sach a crisis must be brave and prompt quick to decide and quick to act The Zulus were perilously near the fallen soldier. Beresford measured tno distance with his eye, and thought he might just do it. He galloped back to the wounded man, dismounted and or dered him to get on the horse. The poor fellow, dazed and hurt as he was, was not less full of the spirit of sacrifice. He bade Beresford mount and go--why should two die Then Beersford, in his desperation, declared that he would punch the man's head If he did not get on and be saved! The droll argument prevailed. The wound ed soldier allowed* himself to be hus tled on the horse, his rescuer scram bled on in front and set the good little beast going at his best pace. As it was, the two would have been speared had not Sergeant O'Toolo turned back and with his rifle held the close-pressing Zulus at bay. When Sir William received the noti fication that the Victoria cross had been awarded him, he returned the an swer that he could not receive any rec ognition of service unless it was shared hy Sergeant O"Fools. Immediately an other award was made. Both heroes received the badge of distinction that marks England's highest approval of "conspicuous bra very.~ 5 I \ #, llN * y \ Aj? ' "In'Jai? \ v . As It Impressed Him. "What is reform?" asked the I**; pressive speaker. ? "Well," answered Senator Sorghum, "I don't know exactly what it is. But It's something we've all got to holler for, whether we want it or not,**** Washington Star. Johnny Knew. Sunday School Teacher--Who toren everybody, Johnnie? Johnnie--My pa does, 'cos he's try ing to get Into the town council.--Tit- Bits. APOLOGY. --I Mr. Grouch--But I gave yon a dime a few hours ago. Weary--Oh, excuse me, hoes. I for got to mark you "paid" on my memo randum. Hot a Good Way. "I wish you could tell me a gMMl way to get rid of book agents." "I can." "Well?" - "Buy their hooks." "I said a.* -'good' way."--Housta* Post." " How They Celebrated. Said the belfry: "Clantf- Clang:" Said the crackers: "Rap! Rap!" Said the brass cannon: "Whang:" Said the torpedoes: "Shap!" Said the sky-rockets: "Whl*B!" Said .the candles: "Sb! Piff!" .ftakl the small pinwheel?: "Flsi!" Said the big ones: "Whir: Wlff!" Said grandma: "Ther«, there!" Said father: "Boys! Boys!" Said mother: "Take car®!", - Said cook: "Such a noise!** Said puss: "Gracious m«'" Said Tpwser: "Bow-wow!" Said Susie: "Wee-ee!" Said Will: "Hurrah! Ow!" --Edwin L. Sab in. In BL NIchQlkA • . r The Rite cuctI fun ! ooch run» TO 12GMP AND BUN TO FLY1 A KITE "WITH ALL CUE MIGHT TO flQLD THE OTdTiQ or the ljg-ht thehg- TfiAT OQAJB3 OUT' OT ^rG-HT •V