Willah Belle Schenck

1904, Leon, Iowa area

Willah Belle Schenck was born Nov. 22, 1877, at Decatur City, Iowa, and died at Leon, Iowa, Dec. 25, 1904, being 27 years and one month old at the time of her death. She joined the M. E. church when she was 15 years of age. For several years she was an active member of the Epworth League and Sunday School, and at last after great suffering her work is done and she has gained the majority.

This third death of the children of Brother and Sister Schenck within two years from the dread disease that has taken them away, falls upon them with a peculiar weight of sorrow. Desolation naturally comes upon the family. Gloom, grief, helplessness against the grim destroyer seizes the soul until pent up grief finds relief in tears, yet not relief for tears do not give relief but temporary ease. God only can give relief and consolation. The whole community, bound by a sense of brotherhood of man begs to be permitted to bear a share of the sorrow that has come to this home. Seven weeks ago the other daughter was carried to the grave and today made doubly gloomy by the disagreeable weather, we place the remains of Willah beside her brother and sister. What is left? Vacant chairs, voices loud in their silence. But memory is immortal; and these cannot be forgotten. We leave them with God, who doeth all things well.


Earlier article

Mrs. T. H. Schenck and daughters, Willah, Jennie and Mrs. M. H. Flinn, returned last Thursday from Lamar, Colo., where they spent the greater part of the past winter for the benefit of Miss Willah's health. Her friends will be glad to know that her health is much improved.


Earlier article

On last Friday Mrs. Fred L. Conrey entertained a party of young ladies in honor of Miss Willah Schenck, at a 12 o'clock dinner. It might more properly have been called a talking party, for those present indulged in a social view of old times. The guests were: Misses Willah Schenck, Ida Hebener, Maude Metier, of Leon, Miss Myrta Howell, of Davis City, and Mrs. Nannie Warrington, of Garden Grove.

Will J. Edwards Dead - 1904, Leon, Iowa area Obituary

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A Kettle of Fish

1904

The phrase "a kettle of fish," meaning an awkward entanglement, most probably has no connection with our word kettle, a vessel in which water is boiled. It has been with much reason derived from the word "kiddle," French "quidel," a stake fence set in a stream for catching fish. Inspector Walpole reminds us that this kidellus net, or kiddle, was mentioned in Magna Charta and in other early statutes. — London Standard.

Centennial Anniversary of William Abbott Holcomb, Ohio

Article from Leon, Iowa area, 1904

Mrs. Helen J. Close has returned to Mt. Pleasant recently from Ravenna, Portage county, Ohio, where she attended the family reunion and one hundredth birthday anniversary of her relative, William Abbott Holcomb, which was celebrated on Monday, September 5th. Mrs. Close writes that she has just completed a delightful two weeks' tour through the state of Ohio and after a few days' rest at the home of her sister at Mt. Pleasant she will leave for a brief visit at the St. Louis Exposition.

The Ravenna Republican contains a well written account of the Holcomb reunion and picture of Mr. Holcomb and some of his descendants. From this article we learn that William A. Holcomb was born in Westfield, Conn., Sept. 5, 1804. His great-great-great-great grandfather was Thomas Holcomb born in Devonshire, England, in 1590, and afterwards became one of the founders of Dorchester, Mass. Caroline Holcomb married John G. DeWolf and died in 1891.

When William was 18 years old he set out afoot for the Ohio wilderness carrying on his back an 18 pound package containing all his earthly possessions. He remained one year in the wilderness and then returned on foot to Westfield. He worked as a brick mason and also in the iron works. On Sept. 24, 1826, he married Lydia Olmstead, a demure Quaker maiden. They emigrated to Portage county, Ohio, where Mr. Holcomb engaged in farming and later on as a railroad contractor. He built Hiram College in 1840. In 1865 he moved to Ravenna and purchased residence property. Besides his elegant city home he owns a valuable farm of 205 acres near Ravenna.

Mr. and Mrs. Holcomb were the parents of ten children, only two of whom are living. The wife died in 1894. The living descendants of this remarkable centenarian number two children, 17 grand-children, 25 great-grand-children, and one great-great-grandson.

Chas A. Brannen and Mergie Hatfield Married

Leon, Iowa area, probably 1904 (maybe 1910)

Brannen-Hatfield.

One of the most attractive events of the season took place at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Abe Hatfield Wednesday, March 7th, at high noon when their only daughter, Miss Mergie Hatfield, and Chas. A. Brannen were united in bonds of holy matrimony by Eld. D. F. Sellards, pastor of the Christian church. Promptly at high noon, while the wedding march was being played by Miss Workman, the bridal party entered the parlor and stood before the beautiful window. Miss Mamie Kimport acted as bride's maid and Milt Manchester as best man, while little Miss Floy Hughes becomingly attired in pink over white silk acted as ring bearer, carrying the ring on a beautiful silver tray. For one so small she performed her part to perfection.

The bride was becomingly attired in blue silk, while the groom wore the conventional black. The bride's maid was attired in a light suit and the best man in black. After the ceremony and congratulations the guests were invited to the dining room to partake of the bountiful repast awaiting them. To say that the table groaned under the good things to eat would be no joke, and when the 23-pound turkey presented by Capt. and Mrs. J. D. Brown was placed on the table it groaned louder than ever. After dinner some very fine selections were played on the organ and then all went into the yard and had their pictures taken in a group. The bride, groom, bride's maid, the best man, little Miss Floy and Eld. Sellards had their pictures taken separately. The guests present numbered about fifty.

The contracting parties were the recipients of many beautiful and useful presents. They will be at home to their friends on the Capt. J. D. Brown farm after March 11th. May the lives of this wedded pair be as bright as their wedding day is the wish of their many friends.

Note: D.F. Sellards, it would appear the exact same one, can be found online, at this link and others.

Russia's Awakening

1904

In Russia it is the government only that sleeps. The people are awake and astir, says the author of "Greater Russia." They are making few demands and feeling a new freedom which is apparent every day in the absence of the former rigid repression, and in the frequent indulgence in license that is miscalled liberty.

One will sometimes see on the palace quay in St. Petersburg a line of people waiting for the steamer to take them to the islands. Along comes some high official who, instead of awaiting his turn, drives to the head of the line and crowds in ahead of the others. Formerly such an occurrence would have been received in silence as a matter of course, but now the people hiss and denounce the official, and police do not interfere.

If a street-car is delayed for a connection at some transfer-station, the passengers often become riotous and demand their fare back, or begin to pound on the door and even break windows until the police make the driver go ahead without waiting for the other car; and he is not allowed to stop again until he reaches his destination.

If an officer remonstrates with a street-car conductor for lack of courtesy to a passenger the crowd will at once interfere, and even the offended passenger turns on him. The officer is told to give his orders to Soldiers who have to obey, not to free men who do not, and not to interfere between men who are as good as he is.

These are trifling things in themselves, says the traveller, but to one who has long known Russia they are startling signs of a new spirit of freedom.

A Better Record-Book

1904

The shrewd comment of a Lancashire blacksmith, whose wits had not been dulled by over-education, is quoted by the Cornhill Magazine. It may be suggestive to students in our universities who spend the lecture hours in scribbling notes instead of listening and understanding.

The clerk in charge of a farriery class held by the county council at Preston, England, gave a stalwart blacksmith a notebook and pencil.

"Wot's this 'ere book for?" asked toe man.

"To take notes," replied the clerk.

"'Notes?' Wot sort o' notes?"

"Why, anything that the lecturer says that you think important and want to remember you make a note of in the book."

The Lancashireman looked scornful. "Oh!" said he. "Anything I want to remember I must make a note of in this 'ere book, must I? Then wot do you think my blooming yed's for?"


For A Dog's Ear

Rossini lived before the day of special pleas for the dog, but he was sufficiently in advance of his time to recognize the equality if not the superiority of his own favorite beast.

The Gentleman's Magazine says that the late Sir Arthur Sullivan made Rossini's acquaintance in Paris.

One morning when Sullivan called to see him he found the composer trying over a piece of music.

"What is that?" asked Sullivan.

"It's my dog's birthday," Rossini replied, gravely, "and I write a little piece for him every year."

The Queen of Romance

1904

An English lady tells a story of Queen Victoria which she believes has not before appeared in print, and which she knows is true. Three children were walking along the road between Windsor and Stoke Poges. They heard the sound of carriage wheels. It was the queen's carriage, and she was in it.

The oldest child, a little boy, had been reading Oriental stories and fairy lore. He knew what was due to a queen, and cried to the others: "Get down flat in the dust before the carriage, and we'll all call out at once, 'O queen, live forever!'"

Down went the three little bodies flat in the dust, much to the mystification of the coachman, who reined up sharply.

The queen leaned forward and asked, "What in the world is the matter, children? Are you frightened?"

Three voices came out of the dust in a smothered treble: "Yes; O queen!"

Then there was a pause, and one reproachful voice said, "There, we forgot the 'live forever' part!"

The queen grasped the situation and laughed aloud, as her coachman afterward said, "more heartily than she had laughed for years."

A Minute Survey Made

1904

A high official of the War Department tells of an amusing report once made by General McKibben, of the Engineer Corps, who had been sent west to examine the course and condition of a certain road. The general's instructions especially directed him to report whence and whither the road led.

Most carefully did the officer follow orders; and when the final report was rendered it was seen that the road about which the War Department hungered for information eventually made its way up a certain hill, and climbed a tree at the top.

"Don't you think we had better omit that part?" inquired the commanding officer, when the report was laid before him. "You see, this report is to go through the regular military channel, and will be filed. Really, you know, a road wouldn't go up a tree!"

"That's where this road went," insisted General McKibben. "It got fainter and fainter; then up that hill it wound and climbed into the tree, just as I have shown in the report. There was, sir, not the least evidence of a trail beyond the tree, but it was blazed far up toward the top, and that was the end of the trail. I think the report should stand as it is, sir; I am prepared to substantiate every word of it!"

The report is so recorded in the archives of the War Office.

Madame Tussaud and Mrs. Wright

1904

This is the centennial year of Madame Tussaud's waxworks, and what faithful tourist in London has not visited that famous show?

The London newspapers duly commemorate its founder, whose life was indeed of singular interest. Born Marie Curtius, the daughter of a Swiss clergyman, she was left a widow while yet in her teens, and went to Paris to assist her uncle in his studio, where he modeled in wax the celebrities of the day, among them Rousseau, Diderot, Voltaire, Mirabeau, and our own Doctor Franklin and Paul Jones. With all these great men she became well acquainted, and some she modeled, for she soon developed marvelous skill. She gave lessons in her art to the king's sister, who soon became so fond of her that she removed her to court, and formally engaged her as a companion.

Then suddenly came the outbreak of the French Revolution. King, queen and nobles were mowed down by the guillotine, and the young artist passed from directing the dainty fingers of Madame Elizabeth to the dreadful task, not to be declined without peril, of modeling the severed heads of the courtiers and great ladies she had known in happier times, as well as those of the fallen chiefs of the Terror — Danton, Marat and Robespierre.

Once she herself fell under suspicion, and was thrown into prison, where she was a fellow captive of the future Empress Josephine. This comradeship secured her many favors when freedom and security came with the rise of Napoleon; but her memories of Paris were too terrible and she removed to London, where she established her waxworks and at once achieved a brilliant success. She lived to the age of ninety, alert, interesting and full of reminiscence to the last.

She was by no means the first woman to succeed as a modeler in wax, and her most notable predecessor in London was an American, Patience Wright, about whom, indeed, Madame Tussaud must have heard many stories from Doctor Franklin, who had been her good friend for many years. Mrs. Wright was a Quakeress, but her peace principles could not restrain a combative tongue when she heard her native land abused, and she roundly lectured her noble and royal customers on their treatment of her "dear America." She did not even spare the king and queen, who had been her frequent and most friendly patrons, good-naturedly accepting the Quaker plainness with which she addressed them simply as "George" and "Charlotte." But scolding was another matter. She lost custom, and planned a removal to Paris. Franklin, whose son was then his secretary, wrote her a letter in which he humorously embodied the young man's fanciful picture of her coming transit with her figures:

"He supposes that you must put them into post-chaises, two and two, which will make a long train upon the road and will be a very expensive conveyance; but as they will eat nothing at the inns, you may the better afford it. When they come to Dover, he is sure they are so like life and nature that the master of the packet will not receive them on board without passes, which you will do well, therefore, to take out, before you leave London, from the secretary's office, where they will cost you only the modest price of two guineas and sixpence each, which you will pay without grumbling, because you are sure the money will never be employed against your country."

Keeping His Word

1904

Sandy is the resident janitor of one of the smaller colleges. He is a bit of a character in his way, and makes an effort not to be outdone by the students. The success is sometimes on one side, sometimes on the other. Sandy owned a little mean-looking dog, of which he was fond. He was treated to much good-humored chaff about the dog, but always replied in kind, frequently asserting, "I widna tak twinty dulthers for ma wee doggy."

A few of the more waggish freshmen made up their minds to test Sandy's assertion. Between them they made up twenty dollars, and one of their number was authorized on the first favorable opportunity to make Sandy an offer.

As was quite common with him, Sandy happened into the cloak-room between lectures. The dog soon became a subject of debate, and out came Sandy's statement, "I widna tak twinty dulthers for ma wee doggy."

"Well, Sandy," said a young freshman, "I would like to have that dog, and here's twenty dollars if you'll sell him," He counted the money out on the table near Sandy.

Without a smile Sandy gravely put his hand in his pocket, drew out a fifty-cent piece, and laid it on the table, at the same time pocketing the twenty dollars. "I didna say I widna tak nineteen fufty. The wee doggy's yourn."


The Test
By John B. Tabb

The dead there are, who live;
The living, who are dead:
The poor, who still can give;
The rich, who lack for bread:
By Love it is, and Love alone,
That Life or Luxury is known.

How Landseer Worked

1904

The man who can accomplish work at a dash is probably the one who has spent patient years in preparation for it. An enthusiastic English sportsman, Mr. Wells, of Redleaf, Penshurst, had engaged Landseer to paint the portrait of his favorite dog. But the artist was one of those who put off their duties as long as possible, and one day Wells, who had been growing more and more impatient, showed his feeling by some sharp expression.

"I know I have behaved shamefully," said Landseer, "but I will come down next Thursday and stay till Monday, and the picture shall be done before I leave."

On Thursday he arrived, just in time to dress for dinner, and his first remark was, "Oh, your man tells me you are going to drag the great pond to-morrow! Hurrah! I am just in time. That is a subject I have often meant to paint, and I shall get any number of sketches done."

This was an unpleasing announcement; but the host bore it. Landseer did a capital day's work for himself, and the next morning, when he came down to breakfast, he said:

"Mr. Wells, I hear you are going to shoot to-day, I've been looking forward to that for a year or two." So it went on until Sunday morning, and then Wells, who was very particular about seeing his guests at the early service, said to Landseer:

"I suppose you are going to church?"

"I don't feel like going," said Landseer. "I think you must excuse me."

"Oh," said Wells, in a blaze, "do just as you think best! You know well enough that this is liberty hall — for you, at all events."

"Thank you," said Landseer. "And I am going to ask you to let me keep Charles Mathews with me, to amuse me."

Wells vouchsafed no answer, and away the people went, leaving these two to their own devices. The minute the house was clear they hurried to another room, which Landseer had specially arranged for the purpose. The head gamekeeper was there, holding the dog, and Mathews assisted when there was need, at the same time amusing Landseer. When the party returned from church the picture was painted, finished, and framed on the wall. Written on the trunk of a tree in the background were the words: "Painted at Redleaf in two hours and a half."

Suspenders and Suspense

1904

A certain Congressman from a mountain district, says the New York Sun, is troubled with a weak, squeaky little voice which sometimes falls in the midst of what might otherwise be an eloquent peroration.

Recently in addressing the House on a matter connected with the tariff, he exclaimed: "Why, tariffs are like a pair of suspenders, sometimes tight and sometimes loose; but Uncle Sam needs them just the same, to keep up his-"

Here the Congressman's voice struck a high treble note, flared and stopped.

The House held its breath while he cleared his throat. The suspense, which seemed to last for fully a minute, was more painful to the auditors than to the orator, for everyone was wondering whether he would say "trousers" or "pants," and some were even hoping that he might say "pantaloons." Even "overalls" would be better than "pants," for "pants" is most unparliamentary.

But all fears were without foundation. He cleared his throat with the greatest care, and in a death-like stillness resumed his oration where he had dropped it: "to keep up his running expenses —"

The words which followed were lost forever in a gale of laughter.

The Sahara Water-Clock

1904

A man's wealth in the Sahara is calculated almost entirely by the number of camels or palm-trees which he owns, and by the amount of water to which he is entitled. Water in the desert is so scarce that the ownership of it is most jealously guarded.

In "A Search for the Masked Tawareks," the author says that in buying a palm grove it is always necessary to stipulate for so many sa'as per day or week. A sa'a, literally "an hour," is the amount of water which will flow in an hour through an opening the width of a man's fist in the side of a segia.

The main segias, or channels, as a rule follow the roads of the oasis, forming a sort of ditch at the side. A regular time-table is kept, showing the hours at which the owners of the different plantations are entitled to draw water.

The time is measured by a very curious little water-clock, consisting of a metal cup, made usually of brass or copper, with a small hole pierced in the bottom. At the commencement of each hour this is placed in a basin of water. The water gradually runs through the hole until, at the expiration of the hour, the cup sinks to the bottom of the basin. It is then taken out, emptied, and set again to measure off the next sa'a, and so the process is continued throughout the twenty-four hours.

This instrument is usually kept in the village mosque. In order to prevent all interference with it, a watchman is set over it, who notifies the expiration of each hour from the minaret of the mosque.

At the end of the sa'a the opening in the side of the segia through which the water flows is closed with clay, and the water is cut off, and allowed to flow down the main channel to the next plantation.

The Regimental Colors

1904

At the bombardment of Fredericksburg, Virginia, during the Civil War, a Confederate soldier was taking sight for a shot at an enemy across the street. Just as his fingers trembled on the trigger a little three-year-old, fair-haired baby girl toddled out of an alley, accompanied by a big Newfoundland dog, and gave chase to a shell that was rolling lazily along the pavement. Major Stiles tells the story in "Four Years Under Marse Robert":

Burke's hand dropped from the trigger. There was the baby, amid the torrent of shot and shell, and on came the enemy. A moment, and he had grounded his gun, dashed out into the storm, swept his right arm round the child, gained cover again, and with the baby clasped to his breast and the musket trailed in his left hand, was trotting after the boys up to Marye's Heights.

Behind that historic stone wall all those hours and days of terror that baby was tenderly cared for. They scoured the countryside for milk, and conjured up their best skill to prepare dainty viands for her little ladyship.

When the struggle was over and the enemy had withdrawn, the Twenty-first Mississippi, having held the post of danger in the rear, was assigned to the place of honor in the van, and led the column. There was a long halt, the brigade and regimental staff hurrying to and fro. The regimental colors could not be found.

Buck Denman stood about the middle of the regiment, baby in arms. Suddenly he sprang to the front, swung her aloft above his head, her little garments fluttering like the folds of a banner, and shouted, "Forward, Twenty-first, here are your colors!" And without further order off started the brigade toward the town. Buck himself describes the last scene in the drama:

"I was holding the baby high, adjutant, with both arms, when above all the racket I heard a woman's scream. The next thing I knew I was covered with calico, and the woman fainted on my breast. I caught her before she fell, and laying her down gently, put the baby in her arms."

Death of Sir Henry M. Stanley.

1904

Sir Henry Morton Stanley, the most eminent of modern explorers, died May 10th, aged 63.

His career was like a chapter of romance. Born in Wales of parentage so lowly that he spent 10 years of his childhood in a poorhouse, he achieved world-wide fame as author and explorer, and became a knight and a member of the House of Commons. At the age of 15 he shipped as a cabin-boy to New Orleans, and was there adopted by a wealthy merchant, who gave him his name.

He served first in the Confederate and later in the Union army, and after the war became a newspaper writer and war correspondent.

In 1871 he was sent by the New York Herald to find Dr. David Livingstone, the English missionary, who had penetrated far into Africa, and from whom no tidings had been received for a long time. He organized an expedition, and penetrating inland from the eastern coast, found Livingstone at Ujiji.

In 1874, under the auspices of the New York Herald and the London Telegraph, he organized the "Anglo-American expedition," which, entering Africa from Zanzibar, emerged about three years afterward at the mouth of the Congo, having traversed the continent through trackless wildernesses, circumnavigated the great lake, the Victoria Nyanza, and explored the Congo.

In later expeditions he explored the Congo farther, and founded the Congo Free State; and relieved Emin Pasha, governor of Equatorial Africa, whose position had become precarious. He wrote several books and gave many lectures describing his travels. He was a contributor to The Companion. In 1895 he was elected to Parliament. — Youth's Companion.

Differences Seen in Men's and Women's Sense of Humor

1904

Best Judges of Humor

It takes a better joke to make a woman smile than it takes to make a man laugh for five minutes. A man will laugh at a stale joke every time, but a stale joke makes a woman feel like weeping.

These are two of the comparisons between the feminine and the masculine senses of humor made by Oreola Williams Haskell in the current number of The Club Woman, the official publication of the General Federation of Women's Clubs.

"One of the differences between man and woman," declares the writer, "and one frequently alluded to by the former, is that he has a strong sense of humor and she has none at all. This truth by woman is accounted for by the fact that her long association with man through the centuries has effectively knocked out whatever festive spirit she once possessed, and man attributes his easily aroused risibilities to a habit acquired while observing the vagaries of the feminine mind.

"Whatever the true explanation may be, it is conceded by all that man would rather laugh than weep, and that woman is at least undecided as to whether she prefers to smile at a stale joke or to attend a tragic play with four pocket handkerchiefs ready to dry her tears.

The writer objects strongly to man's habit of making fun of his wife's shortcomings as a housekeeper to call forth a laugh.

She urges that man's play upon woman's credulity is one of his chief joys, and, speaking of this, Mrs. Haskell declares, "Thus it is seen on what a high plane man indulges his sense of humor. If woman would be his true companion, let her sympathize with and heartily enjoy what amuses and attracts him and appreciate the comic gems of which he is the author. For woman must remember that we are put here to be disciplined, and, though the funny side of life is often the saddest, she must be content to suffer, to pay for the exquisite privilege of living in the same world with him."

Speaking of the various kinds of humor enjoyed by men and women, the writer says, "At the present time man evinces a great fondness for what may be called physical humor. While the petticoated portion of an audience will receive a vaudeville set-to with stolid indifference, what interest it awakens in the kind of people who have a proclivity for rushing out between the acts!

"When the heavy comedian comes out and greets a diminutive companion with such a resounding whack on the back that the latter falls prostrate on the stage, the bass roar of the male voice peals from orchestra circle to highest balcony, while soprano giggle is strangely silent. Again, when an individual whom burnt cork and paint have rendered almost unhuman portrays the inebriate with his zigzag promenade and his hiccoughed utterances, with what responsive glee he is hailed by his own sex!

"Woman lacks the keen intellect to see the delicate wit in pugilistic thumps rained on crouching shoulders and spasmodic kicks that result in nasty and undignified departures from the scene of action. She is also without the power to appreciate the sidesplitting humor of a drunkard's tumbles or a rough-and-tumble fight. It is man alone who can understand just where the comic element comes in and who can enjoy the fine shades of distinction between a punch and a pound, a misstep and a fall, a disagreement and a rumpus.

"But besides physical fun man indulges his love for the spoken, the written and the acted joke. So great indeed, is his fondness for the former that he even bears with equanimity the constant repetition of the same witticisms from one year's end to another."

Movement of Earth's Poles

1904

One of the strange phenomena of nature for which an explanation has long been sought is the fact that the earth's poles undergo a certain more or less irregular displacement, says Harper's Weekly.

Professor John Milne, of England, well known as an authority on earthquakes, has suggested that this displacement may be due to movements of the earth's crust, and consequently depend on the number and frequency, of earthquakes. The theory attracted the attention of M. A. de Lapparent, who has studied the subject with the aid of observations made of earthquakes, as well as of astronomical observations of the movement of the poles, and his results are strongly confirmatory of the English seismologist's theory.

Any movement of the earth's crust, such as the sinking of an ocean bed or the rising of a continent, apparently occasions earthquakes and earth tremors and it is only reasonable to believe that such movements must produce some change in the distribution of the mass of the earth, which would, of course, directly affect the position of the earth's axis, which is also affected by other and exterior causes.

Conversely, by studying the change in the position of the earth's axis by astronomical observations it would be possible to study the changes in the earth's crust. This new science, according to knowledge, "might almost be called the new astrology, since we might perceive, in the apparent motions of the stars' cataclysmic action, possibly of direct influence in man's destiny on the earth."

The Heart of Jumbo the Elephant

1904

It's the Biggest Heart in the World

ITHACA, N. Y., Jan. 30. — The biggest heart in the world, that of the elephant Jumbo, is preserved in the museum of the department of neurology, vertebrate zoology and physiology of Cornell University. If the heart were not so large it would stand in a glass jar on the shelves of the museum with hundreds of those of other animals and men.

But Jumbo's heart is so big that it lies in a barrel stowed away in the cellar of the museum, glass jars not being made large enough to hold the great mass of muscle. Some time it will be dissected by a class of students and then thrown away.

Jumbo had a heart ninety-eight times as large as the average human organ. It now weighs 36½ pounds, after having soaked several years in alcohol. A human heart, which weighs a little more than a pound, soaked in alcohol for the same length of time, weighs 10 ounces. The human heart is less than six inches long. Jumbo's is 28 inches, and 24 inches wide. The ordinary heart could be contained in the main artery of Jumbo's heart. The walls of the artery are five-eighths of an inch thick, while the walls of the ventricle are three inches thick.

When Jumbo met his heroic death at St. Thomas, Ont., trying to save the baby elephant and being himself killed by a locomotive, his carcass was sent to the Ward Natural Science establishment at Rochester. The skeleton was presented and put on exhibition and the hide mounted.

Dr. Burt G. Wilder of Cornell purchased the heart of the animal to add it to his colossal collection. The brains of Jumbo were also desired, but these had been shattered in the collision. When the heart reached Ithaca it was found impractical to preserve it by the process which retains its original shape, and so the organ was put in a barrel of alcohol. It had not been removed for years until Dr. Hugh D. Reed lifted it from the barrel to show to The Herald correspondent.

—The Sunday Herald, Syracuse, New York, Jan. 31, 1904, p. 23.

Memorial Day — A Widening Memorial

1904

Like everything else, holidays undergo a gradual change in spirit and observance. When Decoration day was first set apart many persons predicted that its observance would last only so long as the generations which knew the participants of the Civil War. It was supposed that there would be little present-day enthusiasm for decorating graves of Revolutionary veterans, no matter how great the popular admiration for their valor and sacrifices.

The change of name was wise. Memorial day is a broader term than the old one, and the significance of dedicating one day in the year to the memory of those who gave their lives for their country has been more broadly and fittingly recognized. Memorial day is coming to represent a solemn, serious aspect of our national life, just as the Fourth of July stands for the joyful and the exuberant aspect; and for a nation, as for the individual, "It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting."

As other wars come in the long line of history, the graves of their heroes also will be decorated. There is already a tendency to hold on this day memorial services for firemen and others who fall in public service. Gradually, too, and perhaps unconsciously, the occasion has assumed something of the character of All Souls' day in Paris. Not only do we place flowers on those hallowed spots which are marked by flags, but we leave a wreath upon the graves of our own dear ones who have gone before; and this is well.

One day in the year we can appropriately give to the memory of that great army of the dead whose banners are the lily and the rose, and of which the armies of the Blue and of the Gray are but divisions. — Youth's Companion.