Bellefonte, Pa., February 7, 1890.
A Housekeeper's Tragedy.
One day as I wandered, I heard a complaining
And saw a poor woman—the picture of gloom,
She glared at the mua on her doorstep, (twas
raining), 4:
And this was her wail as she wielded the
broom: .
Oh, life is a toil, and love is a trouble,
And beauty will fade, and riches will flee ;
And pleasures they dwindle, and prices they
double, Ein
And nothing is what I could wish it to be.
There's too much of worriment goesto a
bonnet,
There's too much of ironing goes to a shirt;
There's nothing that pays for the time you
waste on it;
There's nothing that lasts, but trouble and
dirt.
In March it is mud; it's slush in December ;
The mid Summer breezes are loaded with
ust ;
In Fall the leaves litter ; in muggy September
The wall paper rots, and the candle-
sticks rust.
There are worms in cherries, and slugs in the
roses,
And ants in the sugar, and mice in the pies;
The rubbish of spiders, no mortal supposes,
And ravaging roaches, and damaging flies.
1t’s sweeping at six, and dusting at seven ;
It’s victuals at eight, and dishes at nine ;
It’s plotting and plauning from ten to eleven;
We scarce break our tast ere we plan how to
dine.
With grease and with grime, from corner to
centre,
Forever at war, and forcvere alert,
Not rest for a day. lest an enemy enter—
I spony my whole life in a struggle with
irt.
Last night, in a dream, I was stationed forever
On a i little isle in the midst of the sea ;
My one chance of life was a ceaseless endeavor
To sweep off the waves ere they swept over
me.
Alas, "twas no dream ! Again I behold it!
Iyield, I am helpless my fate to avert.
She plies down her sleeves,her apron she
olde
Then laid down ‘and died, and was buried
in dirt.
Irvona, Pa.
AN INNOCENT BURGLAR.
“Now do lie etill, Aunt Martha, and
don’t fret and worry all day and all
night. JAunt, it is bad enough to be all
aches and pains, but you must add
fretting to them?”
The speaker was a tall, bony woman
of some 45 or 50 years, with a hard
face, that expressed far more annoy-
ance than sympathy as she shook up
the pillows and arranged the covers of
the bed where an older woman lay.
Not a very old woman, but one whose
gray hair and wrinkled cheeks told of
many years’ sojourn in the world.
“Bertha!” she said, in a low, plain-
tive voice. “I want Bertha!”
“How many times have I told you
that Bertha can’t be found ?”
“She’s down stairs.”
“Well, if it wouldn't try the patience
of a saint to hear you! Can’t you re-
member, Aunt Martha? Bertha ran
away ‘two years ago with that
panting chap that said his name was
hornton. (Goodness knows whether
it was or not. But he made love to
Bertha while he was painting her pic-
ture. I told you no good would come
of letting her rig herself out like a play-
actress, and stand up for hours, a
smirking and smiling, while he took
her picture and talked eoft nonsense to
her. Heran away with her and that
was the end of it. Can't you remem-
ber?’
“Yes, I remember! He wrote to me,
and sent me a copy of the marriage
lines, so I'd know he loved her true
and faithful. I remember it all, Han-
nah! And I was mad because they'd
deceived me, and wrote back an angry
letter. But I did not know. I should
miss her pretty face and sweet voice.
She was so young, too, Hannah. Only
sixteen! Not more than a child! I
was too hard, too hard. But she is
here, now. Let her come to me !”
All thjs was uttered in the faint gasp-
ing voice of one whose journey of life
was fast drawing to a close. But there
was no pity in the hard face, no tender-
ness in the harsh voice of her niece.
“I tell you she is not here!” she
said, roughly, “and I'm tired of your
eternal whining for her, Go to sleep!”
“T can’t sleep! I never sleep now!
And I heard her. I heard Bertha
down stairs.”
“T wonder, now, if she did hear her,”
Hannah muttered uneasily. “It’s bad
luck to cross the dying. If she would
only tell me whereshe’s put hermoney.
Six thousand dollars in United States
bonds, Lawyer Brown says he’s bought
for her, and never sold one ; and they're
in the house, too. I've ransacked as
much as I dare, but she sleeps so lit-
tle that I can’t do much in the room.
And there's the doctor coming every
day, so I daren’t make her mad, or
she'll send and change her will.
Partly muttering, partly thinking all
this, the woman tidied the room for
the night, and set the lamp on the
hearth, before she went to her own
room. Sitting up to watch was hard
work, and Hannah Graves kept a little
stimulant where she could drink unob-
served. To do her justice, she seldom
took much, and nodded in the arm
chair beside the sick-bed pretty faith-
fully. But on this night she was troub-
led with an uneasy conscience, and ex-
ceeded ‘her usual allowance, falling
into a deep sleepin her own room,
where she had only intended to change
her dress for a loose wrapper.
Earlier in the evening, before the
early darkness of a December night
had close in, there had been a suppli-
ant at the door, whose low, sweet voice
had vainly pleaded for admission. The
grand daughter who had run away
with the artist had heard from a far
mer, whe went weekly to the city, of
her grandmother's illness, and had
honed for one word of torgiveness.
The farmer was a kindly man, who
had before carried tidings from the cot-
tage to the city “flat,” where Marcus
Thornton and his young wife lived, as
poor people in great cities so often live,
struggling bravely for daily bread, but
unt the toil by strong mutual
ove.
Some time in the future the little
wife was sure the paintings, that were
to her like dreams of fairy land, would
bring to her husband wealth and fame.
She trusted him utterly, believing his
genius unequalled in the wide world’s
array of artists. And while she waited
for that genius to be recognized, she
was well content to take in sewing to
save and economize what he earned by
the occasional sale of a small picture,or
the filling of an order to decorate some
rich man’s panels or walls. They were
often compelled to dine on porridge,
but they ate it cheerfully, and furnish-
ed the sauce by building grand castles
in ths air, as they handled their pewter
§poons.
There was no thought of her grand-
mother’s six thousand dollars in Bertha
Thornton's mind, as she thankfully ac-
cepted the farmer's offer to take her
home and seelthe old lady before she
died. Just one word of forgiveness was
all she craved, for she knew that she
had been undutiful and ungrateful
when she left her home in secret to
follow her lover's fortunes. She was
not aware that Hannah Graves had
quietly burned, unopened, the many
letters she had written begging tor-
giveness, but that they were all un-
answerered convinced her that her
grandmother was still angry.
She was a timid little woman, easily
led, easily frightened, and Hannah
(iraves had kept her outside the door
without difficulty, where the farmer
left hier to drive to his own home.
She begged in vain to see her grand-
mother, her sweet voice raised in her
earnestness till it must have penetrated
to the sick-room, from which she was
so resolutely shut out. :
As the door closed upon her and she
heard the heavy bolt drawn it flashed
upon her for the first time that she had
made no provision for her night's shel-
ter. It was winter weather, but notin-
tensely cold, and her dress was warm,
but it was not a pleasant prospect to
think of wandering about all night till
ghe could take the city train early in
the morning’
She shivered as she drew her shawl
closer and listened to the sounds in-
doors that told how carefullylevery door
and window was being barred against
her. The porch was deep and shelter-
ed from the wind, and when she wear-
ied of walkingup and down she crouch-
ed into a corner to rest. .
Just over her head was the window
of her grandmother’s room, and Han-
nah, setting this window a crack open
for the night, let out the sound of her
own harsh voice. Just a murmur of
her. own grandmother's utterances
reached Bertha as she listened intently,
but what Hannah said came to her
clearly and distinctly. It convinced
her that the story she had told of the
old lady’s continued anger was untrue,
and the threat that the sight of her
would have fatal results was another
fiction.
“She wants me! I am sure she will
forgive me!” Bertha thought, as the
faint accents reached her, conveying
no words, but pleading in every tone.
“I will see her!”
Again she listened intently, until she
was sure by the silence that the invalid
was alone. She was young, and light,
and country bred, it was no great
feat to scramble by the twisted vines on
the porch pillars, to its roof, and gain
the window. Very cautiously the sash
was raised, the muslin curtain pushed
aside, and by the dim light Bertha
could see that the only occupant of the
room was the old woman on the bed,
who murmured incessantly :
“Oh, Bertha! I was too hard, dear
child ! Come to your old grannie before
she dies!”
Softly still, for Hannah might be
near. Bertha crept over the window-
gill into the room, and to the door.
This she locked, whispering to herself:
“I will speak to grannie, and if any-
body tries to to put me out, she must
first break the door in.”
But there was no sound in any other
part of the house as she drew near the
invalid, whose large, eager eyes had by
that time discovered her.
“Bertha! You have come, Bertha!’
“Yes, grannie, dear, dear grannie,”
said Bertha, caressing her tenderly, “I
am here.”
“But you must not stay. Hannah
will kill you. She will think you want
the money.”
“Oh, grannie, never mind money
now. Only say you forgive me for
leaving you.”
«With all my heart, dear child.
God bless you ever, and bless the man
you love if he is good to you.”
“He is, grannie, the kindest, best
husband in the world. He shall come
to you to-morrow.” .
“Yes, dear! yes! But now listen.
Goto the clothes press and pull out
the lower drawer. Quick! Now,” as
Bertha obeyed, ‘do you see on the
floor, underneath where the drawer
was, a package, sewed up in strong
muslin? Bring that to me, and put the
drawer back.”
Bertha obeyed, and stood again be-
side the bed.
“Put it in your bosom. Button yonr
dress over it. Sol’ said her grand-
mother, eagerly watching her follow
her instructions. “Don’t tell Hannah.
Don't tell anybody but yout husband.
Promise me!”
“I promise, grannie.”
“It ismy savings for years; saved
for you before I made that cruel will.
It is yours, yours, darling. Hannah
will have the cottage and everything
else, because I have not taken the will
away. ‘Dear, now go. But come to-
morrow with vour husband, to protect
you. Go, dear. Hanna may come.
Good night. God bless you, Bertha.”
Out again in the night air, reluct-
ant as she was to go, Bertha sped away
to the railroad station, two miles away.
She had unlocked the door and drew
the window down before she left the
house, and hurried on, only anxious to
gain her home and bring her husbdnd
to receive the blessing already bestowed
on herself.
There was a train at daybreak and
the station was warm and light, but
the hours dragged slowly, until she was
on her way to the city.
The day-dawn wakened Hannah
from her heavy sleep, and, conscience |
stricken, she hurried to her aunt.
Nothing, to her eyes, had been dis-
voice answered her frightened call.
It was too late for any spoken words
of forgiveness when Marcus Thornton
stood with his wife beside the still,
was pardoned,and she kept her promise
made to the dead.
Hannah Graves livesin the cottage
she has inherited, and kas periodical
a‘tacks searching for the six thousand
found them, although she truthfully
declares there is not one inch of the
cottage that has not been ransacked.”
rr SETA T——
A Mighty Boss.
Heretofore the political boss has been
a character more or less restricted in his
scope. He has been content to rob a
State or ack a city. He has run State
Legislatures and municipal councils, or
he h-s worked the Court House officials
in a county. But we have now a boss
confined to no pent-up Utica—one, who
not only feels able to run the forty-two
States of the American Union, but one
who is resolved to run them whether
they wish to be run or not.
Mr. Matthew Stanley Quay is the boss
of bosses. He can raise more money
for wanamakering, do a bigger business
in “blocks of-five,” and manage politician
of the graceless variety, big or little,
with more audacity and skill then any
other boss that ever arosein the party
of bosses. Beside him Platt is a pigmy,
and Mahone would go in his vest pock-
et. Harrison dreads him as he does con-
tagion, but he cowers before him never-
theless. The old Senators and the old
Representatives at Washington, who
have won reputation in the intellectual
contests of the last few years, naturally
dislike subordination to the voiceless
and pennless boodler who has suddenly
leaped upon their backs from the local
obscurity of Pennsylvania.
In his own State hiseminent colleague
in the Senate has sunk into insignifi-
cance, with all his prospects of re-election
dependent upon the whim of his new
master. There the boss appoints State
tickets, making Governors and Lieuten-
ant Governors and Secretaries out of
hand. There he runs Legislatures as
puppet shows are run, and there he dis-
penses not only Federal and State pat-
ronage according to his royal pleasure,
but he names municipal and county
candidates, impartially taking under
his benevolent care the cities of Phila-
delphia and Pittsburg, and any smaller
ones which may chance to need atten-
tion. With all these various employ-
ments ona would suppose that even
this masterful boss would find it im-
possible to do much else; never-the-
less he gets time to manage local elec-
tions in Louisiana, Virginia, Montana
and the Dakotas, and, not in th» least
embarrassed by these numerous drafts
upon his mighty store of energy, we
now find him organizing the boodler’s
and monopolist’s House of Representas
tives at Washington,
All accounts agree that Boss Quay had
more to do with the organization than
all other men combined. Using his
Pennsylvania puppets for make-weight,
he found it easy to consolidate the
great Eastern delegations behind Reed,
who, being the candidate of the rail-
roads,and of the monopolies generally—
and ofall the highly protected interests,”
except wool, was naturally Boss Quay’s
choice. He has now a Speaker of his
own manufacture, and we are told that
he is immensely delighted with him.
He also chose a clerk, and in very
truth met with no signal failure in his
management of the Honse until, by the
providence of God, a blind preacher
was raised up to beat the caucus nomi-
nee for Chaplian. The House, it is safe
to say, is under the absolute control of
the boss. He will do with it the sort of
things he has done with Pennsylvania
Legislatures. It will serve the interests
of the money power with zeal and fideli-
ty. 'The great corporations represented
by Mr. Quay and which have helped
him to elevate Mr. Reed will suffer no-
thing. It is possible that Mr. Quay’s
ambition to organize the House, and to
possess it as a personal appanage, wes not
unconnected with a very ardent desire
to show Mr. Harrison that he could
not safely disregard the great boss, be-
fore whom all other Republicans laid
themselves prostrate. And it is more
than likely, considering all of Mr.
Quay’s achievements in the last year,
that he will succeed before another year
goes by in reducing Mr. Harrison and
his administration to unmurmuring
subjection.
In all his labors and achievements
there is one manifest duty which Mr.
Quay appears to have overlooked en-
tirley. He bas failed wholly to re-
present Pennsylvania in the United
States Senate. If he has performed
any public services whatever, if he has
done anything in behalf of his State
or his country, the record has
failed to make any mention
of it. In mitigation, however, it
should be remembered that boss & in ac-
tual business can have no time for the
discharge of a public trust.—New York
Globe.
BE
Overcrowding of the Professions.
The cry of “We've got no work to
do,” which goes up in ever increasing
volnme from professional men, is not
confined to this country. Professor
Lexis, of Gottingen, has carefully pre-
pared some statistics which show that
at his own university there are just
twice as many students preparing for.
the various professions as they have
any chance of being able to practice
them. The overcrowding of the pro-
fessions in every civilized country is
likely to continue a growing grievance.
A man on whose education and train-
ling a certain amount of capital has
| been expended may not unreasonably
{ expect it to bear interest in the shape
| of a livelihood. To fall back on busi-
; ness only because professional work is
| not forthcoming generally means equal
in bed was rigid and pulseless, and no.
cold form, but Bertha knew that she |
dollars in bonds, but she has never |
The Suez Canal,
the Desert About a
dred Miles Long.
A Ditch in Hun-
This canal is only 100 miles long, says
turbed in the room, no confusion told | _ jetter from Ecypt to the N 7 ve
of the midnight visitor, but the form | 2 £YP ¢ Now Xo
| World. It is only one-twelfth the
length of the Red Sea, into which it
| conducts?the waters of the Mediterran-
| ean, and these two bodies.of water
| are nearly of thesame level. They now
| flow into one another without locks, and
the canal is well described as a ditch in
the desert. This ditch is about 300 feet
wide at the top and 150 feet wide
at the bottom, and the water within it is
as quiet as a mill pond. Tt is of beauti-
ful sea-green and the contrast of this
| color with the bare yellow sands which
line the banks of the canal makes it
wonderfully beautiful. The canal is so
narrow that ships can pass only at cer-
tain points, and the management gov-
ern these passages just as the train dis-
upon our trunk lines. There are, from
time to time, through the canal wider
spaces where the ships must turn in
while others, which have the right of
way, may pass them, and at a distance
these ships seem to be walking, as it
were, in single file through fhe desert.
They are not allowed to go over five
miles an hour, and this is largely due to
the depth of the canal. Its average
depth is about twenty-four feet, and
many of the ships which pass through
| are more than twenty feet deep in the
water. There is so little wa‘er under
the bottom that there can be no great
speed.
The banks of this canal are of dry and
thirsty sand. In some places they are
kept back by pavements of stone and at
others by a network of twigs like the
jetties of the Missississippi. Tt cost
nearly $100,000,000 to build the canal,
and in some places the channel had to
be cut through solid rocks. In others
there was a little dredging needed. The
waters of the Mediterranean flowed in-
to long, natural lakes, and these requit-
ed but little excavation to make them
deep enough for the transit of ships.
One of the great problems in making
the canal was fresh water for the work-
men. The work was begun in 1858,
and the ruler of Egypt provided 27,000
laborers. They were relieved every
three months, but it was necessary to
feed them. It took 4,000 water casks,
which were carrizd on the back of cam-
els, to supply them with drinking water
and this was kept up for five year. At
the end of that time a fresh-water canal
was arranged so that water was carried
from the Nile to Ismaillia, and there 1s
now a pipe which runs the whole length
of the canal and which carries fresb wa-
ter from one end of it to the other. The
work of preparing harbors at Port Said
and Suez was very expensive and I
took a look at the piers at Port Said,
which are intended to ward off the ac-
cumulations of sand and mud and which
form the navagable entrance to the can-
al. These piers are made of artific'al
stone composed of desert sand and ce-
ment. The machinery to make them
was brought here from France and the
stones are made to throw into the sea.
Each stone weighed twenty tons and it
took 25,000 of these massive rocks to
form the bases of these piers. On the
top of this foundation the [piers were
built and the artificial stone, I am told,
last as long as the natural article.
TIERS
The Clothing of Babies.
Although I own that children are now
more sensibly glothed than was the case
thirty years ago, it is still common to
see an infant, who can take no exercise
to warm himself, wearing a low necked,
short sleeved, short coated dress in the
coldest weather. The two parts of the
body--viz., the upper portion of the
chest and the lower portion of the abdo-
men—which it is most important to
keep from variations of temperature, are
exposed, and the child is rendered liable
to colds, coughs and lung diseases on the
one hand and bowel complaint on the
other. What little there 1s of the dress
is chiefly composed of open work and
embroidery, so that there is about as
much warmth init as in a wire sieve,
and the socks accompanying sucha dress
are of cold white cotton, exposing a cru-
el length of blue and red leg. I cannot
see the beauty of a pair of livid blue legs
and would much rather behold them
comfortably clad in a pair of stockings.
If the beauty lie in the shape of the leg,
that shape will be displayed to as much
advantage in a pair of stockings; if it
lie in the coloring of the flesh, beautiful
coloring will not be obtained by leaving
the leg bare; and, from the artistic
point of view, a blue or red stocking is
infinitely preferable to a blue and red
log. JEssIE O. WALLER.
The Career of a Brave Pennsylvanian.
How Colonel Beidler Became a Terror
to Evil-dcers in Montana.
Col. John X. Beidler was buried at
Helena, Montana, on Sunday last. He
was not one of those whose military title
is merely one of courtesy, Lut won his
colonelcy by hard fighting. He was,
in fact, a famous officer of the law—one
of those Rocky Mountain sheriffs, whose
courage and straight shooting have done
so much to civilize the Wild West.
John X. Beidler was a poor basket
maker in Franklin county, near Cham-
bersburg,Pa. He was a quiet youth, and
gave no indications of a pugnacious dis-
position. Butseeking to improve his
condition about 1860, he went West,
and in 1861 located near Fort Benton,
on the head water of the Missouri. Here
he made friends by his quiet, unobtru-
sive manner and fidelity to any work he
undertook. South of Fort Benton the
country was in a chaotic state. About
Helena, Deer Lodge and Butte City
mines of extraordinary richness were be-
ing developed, but every man’ carried
his life in his hands. Murderers and
horse thieves raled in Buite city. Hen-
ry Plumer, a religious sheriff, command-
ed a gang who held up the stages, kill-
ing the passengers and attacking the
frieght trains that were the only means
of transportation at the time. Plumer
was a jolly fellow and everybody's
friend, but one morning about dawn
Butterfield’s stage was hailed a few miles
from Butte and a volley ot bullets fired
into it, killing the driver and all the
, failure in the new walk in life, simply
because the learning years are already
gone by.— Exchange,
passengers but one German, who suc-
ceeded in getting into the brush, and
patchers regulate the passage of trains (
hid himself in an old prospect hole.
Here to his amazement he heard a
voice he knew well, telling the outlaws
“to hunt up the Dutchman, as dead
men tell no tales.” He was a neighbor
of Plumer and recognized him. Final
ly the road agent left and a few hour af-
ter a party of citizens found the German
and heard his story. Beidler was one
of the party, and he advised immediate
action. Inside of three hours he had
covered Plumer with his pistol in his
own house, just as he was saying grace
at his breakfast-table. A strong party
of citizens swept the saloons and secured
a number of well-known local ruftians,
and by three o'clock, in Sampson’s mule
corral, dangled a dozen bodies, Plumer
being hanged first.
And now the war commenced. The
citizens all over the territory organized,
and Beidler was made chief officer. He
was a little, round shouldered fellow,
whom no one would have taken for a
quietly desperate man, but he became a
terror toevil-doers and ruffians, who fear
el no one else, made tracks when it was
known that “X’’ was in the neighbor-
hood. By this title he was known from
the British border to the Mexican lines.
In 1863 a murder was committed that
aroused the entire community. Henry
McCutcheon was a prominent merchant
and extensive frieghter in Bannock City.
He determined to remove his business to
Helena, and so was imprudent as to let it
be known that he would send $26,000 in
specie by the next train
A Frenchman named Fontaine, a bar-
ber by trade and a desperate rufiian,
made up a party to rob the train, and
about thirty miles North of the city the
attack was made in the early morning,
and every man save one murdered.
Fontaine had told this man, who escap-
ed, not to travel with the train as a
friendly caution, and as he fired a bullet
into his body, exclaimed ‘You
fool, I told you not to come here.” Me-
Cutcheon’s body was found in a neigh-
boring ravine with his head fairly
blown off.
The outlaws divided their plunder
and departed. Fontaine determined to
cross the Rockies into Oregon, but “X”’
and a party were after him Sending
his men on the direct route, “X” with
an Indian guide, took a shorter track
through the mountains, and, after a
night's riding, came to a point where he
commanded the road. It was evident
that he was ahead of his man, and soon
he heard the hoofbeats of a horse on the
rocky road. When the outlaw turned
the point he found his pursuer, pistol in
hand, ready. He was a hardy ruffian,
and at once drew his weapon, but drop-
ped from his horse with a ball through
his body. “X’ sat patiently on his
horse waiting for the rest of the party,
who in an hour rode up. Fontaine was
still living. He told who were his asso-
ciates and then died. The body was
thrown into the canon, and the posse re-
turned to look for the remaining crimin-
als. Inside of a month every one was
hunted down and killed. Beidler was
made sheriff of Bannock, and inside of
a year cleared Southern Montana of its
outlaws. He generally went alone and
kept his own counsel, and more than
once rode into Bannock leading some
noted desperado handcuffed to his sad-
dle before people knew that he had
left town.
In 1865 he was appointed United
States Marshal, and held the position
for twenty years. Only once was he
hurt. A man named McKay, a Nova
Scotian, had robbed the Helena stage
and mail. He was utterly fearless, and
had on more than one occasion beat the
local officials by sheer grit and good
shooting. He sent word to “X’ that he
would be at a certain place at a given
time, and defied the marshal to take
him. “X” knew his man, and day be-
fore, he was hidden in a stable near the
place, a small mining town of three or
four houses in a wild part of the moun-
tains. True to his promise McKay rode
up to the one saloon in the place, and
asked for “X.” He was told that no such
a person was there. He started for the
stable with his horse, and found himself
covered by a pistol, and heard a sum-
mon to surrender. He was a master of
his weapon, and fired at once, sending a
bullet through ¢X’s”’shoulderand drop-
ping dead from a shot through the eye.
_ It is no exaggeration to say that the
‘courage and resolution of this quiet
Pennsylvania “Dutchman” did more to
vindicate the law in Montara than all
other influences combined. He was,
moreover. an honest man modest in
demeanor, and for twenty years a con-
stant member of the Methodist Church.
. An Animal of Bad Repute.
‘Witches in all ages have been report-
ed to assume the guise of black cats and
the evil one appears also to have been
partial to this materialized semblance,
says the London Standard. Wken
Shakespere made it the familiar of the
weird women, and its mewings one of
their omens, he simply gave utterance to
a superstition universally credited in his
day. Some of these old wives’ stories
about the animal still linger in Europe,
though others appear to have happily
died out. Thus, the notion of angry
cats eating co 1, which is mentioned in
Fletcher's “Bonduca” and other con-
temporary plays, can be no longer
traced in current folklore.
In the most benighted of rural parts
the rusties no longer, as they did in
Shakespeare’s time, shoot at cats in
wooden bottles or in baskets, and feel-
ings of humanity have long since exter-
minated every trace of the cruel sport,
the nature of which is remembered by
the phrase of “Whipping the cat at Ab-
ington.” TItis unfortunate that the be-
lief which has encouraged mere cruelty
toward cats than any other—except, in-
deed, the notion that witches possess
them—is still persistent Thisis what
old Trustler calls the ‘conceit of a cat
having nine lives.” For this ‘hath
cost at least nine lives in ten of the
whole race of them.”
——Much foot sensitiveness co uld b
removed by a daily regular resting of
them in cool water. This simple duty
whichcould be utilized as a short-reading
time, which obviates much distress, is
certainly worth performing. I found
this out last summer by taking swim-
ming lessons. I really saved the value
of chiropodists’ bills, going out once a
month instead of twice a week to have
my feet treated, while doing twice as
much walking as customary.
NIT TECTIETN
How a Boa Constriction Takes Its
Fook.
Did you ever see a snakz swallow a
rabbit ? asks a writer in the New York
Sun.
well for you that you haven't. You
would be apt to think it over too much
afterward, when the recollection would
not be altogether a pleasant one. But
the reporter saw it recently and here
is the way of it: The side of the box in
which the snakes were kept was re-
moved and two little white rabbits were
dropped in.
If it isn’t a pretty picture it is a very
true one, and in real life was mighty in-
teresting, too,
The snake was a boaconstrictor eleven
feet long. He had made his lass meal
about two months ago and was getting
a trifle hungry, so his owner decided
yesterday to give him something to eat.
No, that is wrong; it should read to
give her something to eat. For—for
some unexplained reason—those who
handle big snakes always speak of them
in the f:minine gender. They do this
without any regard to the snake’s sex.
Be that as it may, however, it wus de-
cided to give the snake a square meal
yesterday, and, as a boa will not eat any
thing unless “she kills it ‘herself’”
first, it was necessary to provide a live
animal for her. Rabbits being soft,
tender, easily-digested animals, and also
cheap, are generally chosen {o feed the
boas and pythons which are kept in cap-
tivity here until there is a call for them
by some ‘snake-charmer.” It was a
very young and inexperienced rabbit
that was chosen to feed the big boa yes-
terday. The snake was in a dry-goods
box, where she had been put to be fed.
The little white, innocent rabbit was
lifted from its cage by its long ears and
dropped gently into the box with the
snake. He had never seen a snske be-
fore in his brief experience, and was not
at all frightened. He went up to the
boa and smelled her and walked over
her, and seemed inclined to make
friends with her. The boa did not seem
to notice the rabbit at first.
‘When she did see him she at once
coiled herself and drew back her head
preparatory to the vicious bite with
which the snakes grab their victims.
One often reads of the way that snakes
charm rabbits and birds before they cap-
ture and eat them, and the reporter
stood up alongside the box and looked
in to see the interesting performance for
himself. But he didn’t see any thing of
the sort. The rabbit was not charmed
in the least. He did not tremble and
rivet his eyes on the glittering little
black beads in the snake’s head. He
did not seem to take in his position.
From his actions he evidently thought
that he was destined to live to a good
old age.
Suddenly there was a dart of the boa’s
head forward and her cruel jaws, armed
with rows of needle-like teeth, closed
with a snap on the little rabbit’s head.
The movement was so sudden and rapid
that it was difficult to follow it with the
eye. The rabbit gave one little squeak,
but as quick as thought the boa had
wound fold after fold of its length about
it’s victim's body, and was squeezing it
with deadly force. There was no more
breath left in the rabbit's body. Prac-
tically he was dead the instant that the
first coil had been wound about him.
He struggled convulsively for a moment.
it is true, but it was merely muscular
contraction, not done on purpose.
It must have been fully five minutes
before the snake again showed any signs
of being alive, so still and motionless
was she. Then she relaxed the terrible
pressure of her coils a little and began
the act proper of swallowing. This was
performed in a very peculiar way. It
did not seem like swallowing so much
as it did like absorbing. The snake just
drew herself overs the rabbit us a glove
is drawn on over a hand, and as she did
so her jaws stretched wider and wider
until it seemed tbat they must part at
the place where they joined together.
It is marvelous how much a boa ecn-
strictor’s jaws and neck can stretch
without tearing apart. ‘Wider and wid-
er stretched those jaws and less could be
seen of the rabbit as he was gradually
enveloped. At last, after about fifteen
minutes had passed in this wav, nothing
but the hind feet of the rabbit could be
seen. Then these, too, disappeared, and,
with a convulsive movement of the
snake’s body near the head, the swal-
lowing process was completed. Tt took
only about ten minutes more for the
lump caused by the rabbit's body to pass
down the snake from her head to about
eighteen inches below it. Then she
crawled over into a cerner and coiled
herself up to digest her meal. This will
take her a week or two.
A LR TS
— «FAT MEN,” said a well known
New York physician, “are the most
gullible creatures of earth. No end
of medicine sharps bave made big
fortunes purely by the manner in
which they have preyed upon the
prejudices of men who convey super-
finous flesh around with them, and
there would seem to be absolutely no
nostrum too nonsensical or absurd
for a fat man to reject. The merest
tyro in matters relating to hygiene
knows perfectly well that the only re-
sonable way for a man of abundant
flesh to reduce himself is by exercise.
Then, as he grows thinner, his mucles
harden and he increases in strength,
but inordinate fat predisposes a man
to inertia and languor, and so fat men
try to reduce themselves by medicines
and medical remedies of various sorts.
They succeed in wrecking their di-
gestive powers, and that is about all.
Most of them are big and strong en-
ough to protect themselves in a physi-
cal sense, but they are veritable child-
ren when they come in contact with
quack doctors.”
A woman can get more bundles
together in half a day’s shopping than a
man can carry, and she can buy goods
ten per cent. cheaper than he can, be-
cause, in the first place, she always asks
everybody what they paid for every-
thing, and is thoroughly posted on
prices; and, in the second place, she
has the infinite patience to stand and
talk to the clerks, and wheedle, and
coax, and bargain, until, in the sheer
desperation of utter soul-weariness, they
take off two cents a yard, and think
themselves lucky to escape so well.
ome———————
— «Hell hath no tury like a woman
scorned.” There's some consolation for
the sinner, any way.
No ? Well, perhaps it is just as