The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on February 9, 1898 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

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Wednesday, February 9, 1898
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TJBtE ttWMt 1318 MOJtN^By IOWA, INfeftNATIONAL PRESS ASSOCIATION* •CHAPTER XXVII.—rCoNTiNUED.1 Presently the object of his search entered, being no other than the fairy prince he had admired so much from the first. Seen closely, she -was a young •woman of about flve-and-twenty, with hold, black eyes, and a petulant mouth, significant of ill-temper. Directly she saw him she tossed her head and made a grimace. "So it is you!" she cried. "I thought you were dead, and buried." "And you did not mourn me?" returned Caussidiere, softly, with his most&winnlng smile. "Well, I have come'to ask you to sup with me tonight it the Cafe des Trente Etoiles." , "I shall not come! I am engaged!" "Nonsense, Seraphine! You will come." "Of course she will come," cried tho low comedian, breaking in. "My children, live in amity while you can, and drink of the best, for the Germans are approaching. Papa Corbert commands you—be merry, my children, while you may. Seraphine, Caussidiere is a king tonight; you will join him and drink confusion to the enemies of France." "Why did you not come before?" demanded Seraphine, sharply. "It is a week since I have seen you. Were you nursing the baby at home?" "Ah, Caussidiere is a model husband," exclalmedMademoiselleBlanche; "he rocks the cradle and goes to bed at ten." "Ladies," said Corbert, with mqck solemnity, "I conjure you not to jest en such a subject. I am a family man ray- self, as you are aware. Respect the altar! Venerate the household! And since the Germans are approaching-—" "Bother the Germans!" interrupted Seraphine. "Let them come and burn Paris to the ground. I should not care. I tell you, Caussidiere, I have an engagement." "Don't believe her!" cried Corbert. "Seraphine will sup with you. She loves Brunei's oyster pates too well to deny you. Think of it, my child! A •little supper for two, with Chambertin that. has. just felt the fire, and chanf^ pagpe." ****** An hour later Caussidiere and Mademoiselle Seraphine were seated in one of the cabinets of the Cafe des Trente Etoiles amicably discussing their little supper. When the meal was done and the waiter had brought in the coffee, the pair sat side by side, and Caussidiere's arm stole round the lady's waist. "Take your arm away," she cried, laughing. "What would Madame Caus- sidiere say if she saw you?" Caussidiere's face darkened. "Never mind her," he returned. "Ah, but I do mind! You are a bad man, and should be at home with your wife. Tell me, Caussidiere," she continued, watching him keenly, "does she know how you pass the time?" "She neither knows nor heeds," replied Caussidiere. "She is a child, and stupid, and does not concern herself with what she does not understand." Seraphine's manner changed. The smile passed from her face, and the corners of her petulant mouth came down. Frowning, she lighted a cigarette, and, leaning back, watched the thin blue wreaths of smoke as they curled up toward the celling. "What are you thinking of?" asked Caussidiere, tenderly. "I am thinking—" "Yes." "That you are incorrigible, and not to be trusted; you have given this person your name, and I believe she is your wife after all; and if that is so, what will become of your promises to me? I am a fool, I believe, to waste my time on such a man." "Seraphine!" "Is she your wife, or is she not?" "She is not, my angel." "Then you are free! Answer me truly; no falsehoods, if you please." "I will tell you the simple truth," replied Caussidiere, sinking his voice and nervously glancing toward the door. "In one sense, look you, I am married; in another, I am not married at all." "What nonsense you talk! Do you think I am insane?" "I think you are an angel." "Pshaw! Take your arm away." "Listen to me, Seraphine. The affair is very simple, as I will show you." "Bien! Goon!" "In a moment of impulse, for reasons which I need not explain, I married her of whom you speak, according to the English law. It was a foolish match, I grant you, and I have often repented it from the moment when I met you." "Apres?" murmured Seraphine, with a contemptuous shrug of her little shoulders. , "Apres? Well, the affair i s clear enough. I am a French citizen, my Seraphine!" He looked* at her smilingly, with an expression of wicked meaning. She returned the look, laughing petulant- Jy. "What of that?" she asked, "Do you not perceive? ^o long aa I remain in my mother country, where no ceremony has taken place, this perr son is not my wife at all. The law IB very convenient, is it not? A marriage in England with an English subject is no marriage unless it baa been properly ratified i n France,? 1 "Qlbbut yo« aVe tiiitreux," she cr}ed, tootle," ha said. "What do yon wish fAJLMA&E'S ', SEBMON, to know concerning him?" "It is abominable. Why do you not do what is right, and acknowledge her according to the French law." "For a very good reason. There is some one I love better, as you know." But the actress drew herself angrily away. "You love no one. You have no love in your heart. I tell you, Leon, I am sorry for her and for her child. There is a child, too, is there not?" "Yes," replied Caussidiere. "Does she know, this poor betrayed, what you have just told me?" "Certainly not. It would only—distress her!" "It is infamous!" exclaimed Seraphine. "Not at all," he answered. "She is very happy in her ignorance, I assure you. When the time comes, 'and it may come when you please, I will tell her the truth and she will quietly go home." There was a long pause. Seraphine continued to smoke her cigarette and to glance from time to time with no very admiring eagerness at her companion. It was clear that the frank confession of his villainy had not raised him in her esteem. Seeing her coldness,. and anxious to change the subject, he rang for the waiter and ordered the hill. While that document was being prepared he opened hie purse and looked into it. The act seemed to remind him of something he had forgotten. He felt in the pocket of his coat, and drew forth a small cardboard box. "I have something to show you," he said, smiling. Seraphine glanced up carelessly. < ' "What is it, pray?" "It is this," replied Caussidiere.open- ing the box and showing a gold bracelet richly wrought. "Do you think it pretty? Stay! Let me try it on your arm!" So saying, he clasped the bracelet on Seraphine's left wrist. Holding out her arm, she looked at it with assumed carelessness.but secret pleasure, for she was a true daughter of the theater, and loved ornament of any kind. "I see," she said, slyly. "A little present for madame!" "Dlable! No, it is for you—if you will accept it." "No, thank you. Please take it away. I will not take what belongs to another." "Then I will throw it into the street!" At this moment the waiter returned with the bill. It amounted to a considerable sum, and when Caussidiere had settled it, and liberally feed the bringer, there was very little left in the purse. "You will wear the bracelet for my sake," said Caussidiere, softly, as he assisted theactress to put on her cloak. "No, no," answered Seraphine, but without attempting to take the bracelet off. "Apropos, Leon, where do you get your money? You do not work much, I think, and yet you spend your cash, sometimes like an English mi- lor." "I wish I were twenty times as rich, for your sake!" cried Caussidiere, evading the question. "Ah, my Seraphine, I adore you!" He drew her toward him and kissed her on the lips. The present of the bracelet had prevailed.and she suffered the salute patiently; but there was an expression in her face which showed that she rated her admirer exactly at his true worth. A few minutes later Caussidiere, with the actress hanging on his arm, gayly quitted the cafe. CHAPTER XXVIII. N the morning after her strange interview with Mar- jorle, Adele of the M o u c h e d'Or, dressed in the wildly extravagant costume of a petro- leuse, and holding a flaming torch in her hand, was standing in an artist's studio—a grimy enough apartment, situated in a back street in the neighborhood of the Madeleine. She was posing for the benefit of tho artist immediately in front of her, bin her eyes were fixed not upon him, bin upon the figure of a young man who was working hard at the other end of the room. Ever since she first came to the studio, just three days before.Adele had watched the young man very curiously. His behavior interested her. He seldom spoke, but worked at his picture with quiet pertinacity. Presently the young fellow dropped his brush and walked silently from the room. Adele turned her eyes upon her companion, "Who is your friend, monsieur?" she asked abruptly. The artist, deeply engaged in his work, failed at first to notice her question. "Who is he?" she asked again. "He?" "Yes; the young man who works always and never speaks." "He is a friend." "Naturally, Monsieur, since be shares your studio. Put where does he come from?" The artist smiled. "You seen} curious about him, made- The girl shrugged her shoulders. "Wish to know!" she exclaimed, "Ma foi! i have no wish to know, monsieur." Then I don't mind telling yon. He is a countryman of mine. He was born in a village near where I was born. I knew him when he was a boy; and when he came to Paris a few months ago, determined to work hard and compelled to live on slender means, I offered to share my studio with him, and he is here. There, you have lost your fierce look and got quite a tame one into your eyes. You are no longer a wild creature of the Revolution. You are also stiff, I perceive. Take a few turns about the rooms, mademoiselle, then we will go on." The artist walked over to a table littered with all kinds of debris, filled a well-colored briar-root pipe, and began to smoke. He was a tall man, slight in build, rather good-looking, but very carelessly dressed; when he walked, he did so with a slight limp, though he appeared to have well-knit limbs; and when he spoke French, ho did so with a very strong insular accentuation. From himself Adele had learned nothing of his personal history, for he was chary of giving that kind of information, and at times more inclined to work than talk. Having received permission to rest, Adele shook herself like a young panther, and leaped lightly from the rostrum, while her employer, having lit his pipe, strolled off and left her in sole possession of the studio. She tood for a moment to stretch her imbs, already cramped with posing, hen strolled thoughtfully to the fur- her end of the. studio, where the ounger of the two men had been working. There stood the picture at which he worked so assiduously, covered with a green fold of baize. Adele onged to have a peep at it. She lis- ,ened; returned to the door; there was no sound; then she ran lightly across ,he room, lifted the loose baize and exposed the picture to full view. "Holy Mother!" she exclaimed, starting back with raised eyebrows and hands. "You are 'startled, mademoiselle," said a voice. "Do you consider tho jicture a bad one?" Adele turned and saw her employer lazing at her from the threshold of the room. "If you please," he continued, advancing, "we will return to our work. Your face has got some expression now; the rest has done you good." Without a word she turned from the picture, mounted her rostrum and fell Into her accustomed pose. For a time the artist worked again silently, and Adele, glancing from him to the picture, seemed deliberating as to what she should do. Presently she spoke. "How long has he been in Paris?" she said, indicating by a sidelong movement of her head the person who usually occupied the other end of the room. Several months, as I informed you,"" returned the artist, without looking up from his work. "Who is his model?" "Which one?" "For that picture." "No one. He paints from memory." "Ah, then, he has known her? He is a compatriot of madame?" "Of whom?" "Of the original of that picture— Madame Caussidiere." "Ah, you think you trace a likeness to a friend." "I do not think it, monsieur; I know it. It is madame, not as she is now —ah, no—but as she must have heen years ago, before she married that chouan of a Caussidiere!" (TO BE CONTINUED.) "WATCHING THE BOAT," LAST SUNDAY'S SUBJECT. Prom the Text, Exodus 4 : "And fits Sister Stood Witness what Would Him." 3 Atat Oft. to Be Done to RINCESS THER- MUT1S, daughter of Pharaoh, looking out through the lattice of her bathing house, on the banks of the Nile, saw a curious boat on the had river. It neither oar nor helm, and they would have been useless anyhow. There was only one passenger, and that a baby boy. But the Mayflower, that brought the Pilgrim Fathers to America, carried not so precious a load. The boat was made of the broad leaves of papyrus, tightened together by bitumen. Boats were sometimes made of that material, as we learn from Pliny and Herodotus and Theophrastus. "Kill all the Hebrew children born," had been Pharaoh's order. To save her boy, Jochebed, the mother of little Moses, had put him In that queer boat and launched him. His sister, Miriam, stood on the bank watching that precious craft. She was far enough off not to draw attention to the boat, but near enough to offer protection. There she stands on the bank—Miriam, the poetess, Miriam, the quick witted, Miriam, the faithful, though very human, for in after years she demonstrated it. Miriam was a splendid sister, but had had her faults, like all the rest of us. How carefully she watched tho boat containing her brother! A strong wind often upset it. The buffaloes often found there might in a sudden plunge natural force unabated—God touched great lawgiver's eyes and they closed; and his lungs, and they ceased; and his heart, and it stopped; and commanded, saying, "To the skies, tfaoii immortal spirit!" And then one Divine hand was put against the back of Moses, and the other hand against the pulseless breast, and God laid him softly down on Mount Nebo, and then the lawgiver, lifted in the Almighty's arms, was car- tied to the opening of a cave, and placed in a crypt, and one stroke of the Divine hand smoothed the features Into an everlasting calm, and a rock was rolled to the door, and the only obsequies, at which God did all the offices of priest, and undertaker, and gravedlgger, and mourner, were ended. Oh, was not Miriam, the sister of Moses, doing a good thing, an important thing, a glorious thing when she watched the boat woven of river plants and made water-tight with a&phaltum, carrying its one passenger? Did she not put all the ages of time and of a coming eternity under obligation when she defended her helpless brother from the perils aquatic, reptilian, and ravenous? She it was that brought that wonderful babe and his mother together, so that he was reared to be the deliverer of his nation, when otherwise, If saved at all from the rushes of the Nile, he would have been only one more of the God-defying Pharaohs; for Princess Thermutls of the bathing- house would have inherited the crown of Egypt; and as she had no child of her own, this adopted child would have come to coronation. Had there been no Miriam there would have been no Moses. What a garland for faithful sisterhood! For how many a lawgiver, and how many a hero, and how many a deliverer and how many a saint are the world and the church indebted to a watchful, loving, faithful, godly sister? Come up out of the farm-houses, come up out of the inconspicuous homes, come up from the banks of tho Hudson and Penobscot, and the Savannah, HAND TO MOUTH. In. America People Leave Nothing for Their Children to Spend. In America it is the custom—very nearly the universal custom—for parents to spend upon the luxuries and pleasures of the family life the whole income, says the North American Review. The children are educated according to this standard of expenditure and are accustomed to all its privileges. No thought is taken of the time when they must set up households for themselves—almost invariably upon a very different scale from the one to which they have been used. To the American parent this seems only a natural downfall. They remark cheerfully that they themselves began in a small way and it will do the young people no harm to acquire a similar experience, forgetting that in most cases their children have been educated to a much higher standard of ease than that of their own early life. Ttoey do not consider it obligatory to leave anything to their children at death. They have used all they could accumulate during their own lifetime— let their children do the same. The results of the system are cyrstallized in the American saying, "There are but three generations from shirt sleeves to shirt sleeves." The man who acquires wealth spends what he makes. His children, brought up in luxury, struggle unsuccessfully against conditions to whioli they are unused, and the grandchildren begin in their shirt dleeves td toil for the wealth dissipated by tha two preceding generations. Negro Marvel. J. R. Thompson, a negro boy, 11 years, of age, living near Savoyard, Ky., baa" already mastered the common school rudiments of his scholastic education, and, is always up in algebra, eeowe* try, astronomy, calculus, and the higher branches. He is said to be a lightning calculator, and a marvel in. respects. of thirst sink It. Some ravenous water fowl might swoop and pick his eyes out with iron beak. Some crocodile or hippopotamus crawling through the rushes might crunch the babe. Miriam watched and watched until Princess Thermu- tls, a maiden on each side of her hold- Ing palm leaves over her head to shelter her from the sun, came down and entered her bathing house. When from the lattice she saw that boat she ordered it brought, and when the leaves were pulled back from the face of the child and the boy looked up he cried aloud, for he was hungry and frightened, and would not even let the princess take him. The Infant would rather stay hungry than acknowledge any one of the court as mother. Now Miriam, the sister, incognito, no one suspecting her relation to the child, leaps .from the bank and rushes down and offers to get a nurse to pacify the child. Consent is given, and she brings Jochebed, the boy's mother, incognito, none of ttie' court knowing that she was the mother; and when Jochebed arrived, the child stopped crying, for its fright was calmed and its hunger appeased. You may admire Jochebed, the mother, and all the ages may admire Moses, but I clap my hands in applause at the behavior of Miriam, the faithful, bril- liant'and strategic sister. "Go home," some one might have said to Miriam; "why risk yourself out there alone on the banks of the Nile, breathing the miasma, and In danger of being attacked of wild beast or ruffian; go home!" No; Miriam, the sister, more lovingly watched and bravely defended Moses, the brother. Is he worthy her care and courage? Oh, yes; the sixty centuries of the world's history have never had so much involved in the arrival of any ship at any port as In the landing of that papyrus boat calked with bitumen! Its one passenger was to be a nonsuch in history —lawyer, statesman, politician, legislator, organizer, conqueror, deliverer. He had such remarkable beauty in childhood that Josephus says, when he was carried along the road, people stopped to gaze at him, and workmen would leave their work to admire him. When the king playfully put his crown upon this boy, he threw it off indignantly, and put his foot upon it. The king, fearing that this might be a sign that the child might yet take down his crown, applied another test. According to the Jewish legend, the king ordered two bowls to be put before the child, one containing rubies and the .other burning coals; and if he took the coals, he was to live, and if he took the rubies, he was to die. For some reason the child took one of the coals, and put it in his mouth, so that his life was spared, although it burned the tongue till he was indistinct of utterance ever after. Having come to manhood, he spread open the palms of his hands in prayer, and the Red Sea parted to let two million five hundred thousand people escape. And he put the palms of his hands together in prayer, and the Red Sea closed on a strangulated host. His life so unutterably grand, his •burial must be on the same scale. God would let neither man nor saint nor archangel have anything to do with weaving for him a shroud or digging for him a grave. The omnipotent God left his throne in heaven ono day, and if the question was asked, "Whither is the King of the Universe going?" the answer was, "I am going down to bury Moses." And the Lord took this mightiest of men to the top of a hill, and the day was clear, and Moses ran his eye over the magnificent range of country. Here, the valley of Esdrae- lon, where the final battle of all nations is to be fought; and yonder, the mountains Hermon and Lebanon and Gerizim, and the hills of Judea; and the village of Bethlehem there, and the city of Jericho yonder, and the vast stretch of landscape that almost took the old lawgiver's breath away as he looked at it. And then without a pang —is I learn from the statement that the eye of Moses wag undlmmed and his and the Mobile, and the Mississippi, and all the other Nlles of America and let us see you, the Miriams who watched and protected the leaders in law, and medicine, and merchandise, aind art and agriculture, and mechanics, and religion! If I should ask all physicians and attorneys and merchants and ministers of religion and successful men of all professions aind trades, who are indebted to an elder sister for good influences and perhaps for an education or a prosperous start, to let it be known, hundreds would testify. God knows how many of our Greek lexicons and how much of our schooling was paid for by money that would otherwise have gone for the replenishing of a sister's wardrobe. While the brother sailed off for a resounding sphere, the sister watched him from the banks of self-denial. Miriam was the eldest of the family; Moses and Aaron, her brothers, were younger. Oh, the power of the elder sister to help decide the brother's character for usefulness and for heaven! S'he can keep off from her brother more evils than Miriam could have driven back water-fowl or crocodile from the ark of bulrushes. The older sister decides the direction in which the cradle boat shall sail. By gentleness, by good sense, by Christian principle she can turn it toward the palace, not of a wicked Pharaoh, but of a holy God; and a brighter princess than Thermutls should lift him out of peril, even religion, whose ways are ways of pleasantness and all her paths are peace. The older sister, how much the world owes her! Born while yet the family was in limited circumstances, she had to hold and take care of her younger brothers. And if there is anything that excites my sympathy, it is a little girl lugging round a great fat child and getting her ears boxed because she cannot keep him quiet! By the time she gets to young womanhood she IB pade and worn out, and her attractiveness has been sacrificed on the altar of sisterly fidelity, and she is consigned to celibacy, and society calls her by an unfair name; but In heaven they call her Miriam. In most families the two most undesirable places in the record of births are the first and the last; the first because she is worn out with the cares of a home that cannot afford to hire help, and the last because she is spoiled as a pet. Among the grandest equipages that sweep through the streets of heaven will be those occupied by sisters who sacrificed themselves for brothers. They will have the finest of tiie Apocalyptic white horses, and many who on earth looked down upon them will have to turn out to let them pass, the charioteer crying: "Clear the way! A queen is coming!" General Bauer, of the Russian cavalry, had in early life wandered off in the army, and the family supposed he was dead. After he gained a fortune he encamped one day In Husam, his native place, and made a banquet; and among the great military men who were to dine, he invited a plain miller and his wife who lived near by and who, affrighted, came, fearing some harm would be done them. The miller and his wife were placed one on earh side of the general at the table. The general asked the miller all about his family, aind the miller said that he had two brothers and a sister. "No other brothers?" "My younger brother went off with the army many years ago, and no doubt was long ago killed." Then the general said: "Soldiers, I am this man's younger brother, whom he thought was dead," And how loud was the cheer, and how warm the embrace! Brother and sister, you need as much of an introduction to eapfa other as they did, Yqu do u^now ea,<jh You think you,p fc|$$|gr is cross and queer, and he thinks yott at* selfish and proud and unlovely. Batfc wroftg! TTiat brother will be a pfln-ce • In some woman's eyes, and that siatef a queen in tihe estimation of some man. That brother is a magnificent fellow* and that sister is a morning in June. Oome, lei toe Introduce you: "Moses, this is Miriam." "Miriam, this is Moses." Add seventy-five per cent to yoiir present appreciation of each other, and when you kiss good morning do not stick up your cold ciheefc, wet from the recent washing, as though you hated to toucfh each other's lips In affectionate caress. Let it have all the fondness and cordiality of a loving sister's kiss. Make yourself as agreeable and helpful to each other as possible, remembering that soon yoti part. The fe*r years of boyhood and girlhood will soon slip by, and you will go out to homes of your own, and into the battle with the world, and amid ever-changing vlcls'sltudes, and on paths crossed with graves, and up steeps hard to climb, and through shadowy ravines. But, O my God and Savlotir! may tihe terminus of the Journey be the same as the start—namely.at the father's and mother's knee, If they have Inherited the kingdom. Then, aa In boyhood and girlhood days, we rushed In after the day's-absence with much to tell of ex- 1 citing adventure, and father and mother enjoyed the recital as much as we who made it, so we shall on the hillside of heaven rehearse to them all the scenes of our earthly expedition, and they shall welcome us home, as we say: "Father and mother, we have come and brought our children with us." The old revival hymn described it with glorious repetition: "Brothers and sisters there will meet, Brothers and sisters there will meet, Brothers and sisters there will meet, Will meet to part no more." I read of a child In the country who was detained at a neighbor's house on a stormy night by some fascinating stories that were being told him, and: theai looked out and saw It was so dark he did not dare go home. The incident impressed me the more because In my childhood I had much the same experience. The boy asked his comrades to go with him, but they dared not. It got later and later—seven o'clock, eight o'clock, nine o'clock. "Oh," he said, "I wish I were home! As he opened the door the last time a blinding flash of ligihtning and a deafening roar overcame him. But after awhile ho saw In the distance a lantern, and lo! his brother was coming to fetch him home, and the lad stepped out and with swift feet hastened on to his brother, who took him home, where they were so glad to greet him, and for a long time supper had been waiting. So may it be when the night of death comes and our earthly friends cannot go with us, and we dare not go alone; may our Brother, our Elder Brother, our Friend closer than . a brother, come out to meet us with thei light of the promises, which shall be a lantern to our feet; and tihen we will go in to join our loved ones waiting for us, supper all ready, the marriage supper of the Lamb! llleh Kocky River Bottoms. We mentioned a year ago the remarkable crop of corn raised by W. Q. Hammond on 150 acres of bottom land on Rocky river, aggregating over 5,000 bushels, says the Honea Path (S. C.) Chronicle. The present year he has done even better than that. He planted 110 acres of bottom laud and has finished gathering the corn, which has yielded him 7,400 bushels, or a fraction over 67 bushels to the acre. This Is a wonderful crop. In addition to that he has gathered about 350 bales of cotton by field weights, as none of it has been ginned yet. This crop has cost him, he says, a cash outlay of about $6,000. At $25 a bale this cotton will pay the expense of making the crop and leave him a net profit ot $2,500 and all his corn. Or, if the corn were sold at the current market price of 60 cents per bushel, it would bring $4,400, nearly enough to pay the expense. He has twenty-six mules on his farm and his farm operations have been conducted by a force of thirty- five convicts. Besides this, he raised 1,000 bushels of oats. He informs ua that his corn crop would have been larger, but fifteen acres of it were badly damaged by the cut worms. He says he had several acres that produced over 100 bushels to the acre. And. besides, he now has on hand a quantity of his last year's crop of corn for sale. This is the most successful example of good farming we know of, A Few Pullmlroiues. The palindromist sends us the following list of words, clipped from some paper, which may be spelled forward or backward: "Anna, bab, bib, bob, bub, civic, dad, deed, deified, did, ec.ce, eve, ewe, eye, gog, gig, gag, level, madam, noon, otto, pap, peep, pip, pop, pup, redder, refer, repaper, reviver, rQ? tator, sees, sexes, shahs, tat, tit, toot," This leads us to ask: "What is tho matter with Hannah?" Her name Is also palindromical. Dr. WoxonVs family name is equally capable of being spelled backward. But can we not add to the above list? Adam's alleged remark to Eve, "Madam, I'm Adam," and Napoleon's "Able was 1 ero i saw Elba," should be barred on account Ql age. — Boston Journal. Old Gentleman— "Wby RI-.O you cry- iny, nay little man?"- Sjaa,U.ho.y (sobbing)—''! djreanjt hjsj njgiit dat fle schpo.1

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