Es EATRSTE TN A”
“Bellefonte, Pa. November 28, 1890.
MY NEIGHBOR JIM.
Everything pleased my neighbor Jim,
When it rained
He never compigined
But said wet weather suited him .
“There's never too mueh rain for me.
And this is something like,” said he.
When earth was dry as a powder mill,
He did not sigh
Because it was dry,
But said if he could have his will
It would be his supreme delight
To live where the sun shone day and night. |
When winter came, with its snow and ice,
He did not scold
Because it was cold,
But said: “Now, this is real nice ;
If ever from home I’m forced to go,
I'll move up north with the Espuimau.”
A cyclone whirled along its track
And did him harm—
It broke his arm,
And stripped the coat from off his back ;
And I would give another limb
To see such a blow again,” said Jim.
And when at length his years were told,
And his body bent,
And his strength all spent,
And Jim was very weak and old ;
“I long have waited to know,” he said,
“How it feels to die,” and Jim was dead.
The angel of death had summoned him
To heaven, or—well,
I eannot tell ;
But I know that the climate suited Jim ;
And cold or hot, it mattered not—
It was to him the long-sought spot.
GRACIE’S MISTAKE.
BY RUFUS HALE.
When Doctor Sanford came to the
village of B and put up his mod-
est sign over the door of the little house
he had hired, there was some excite-
ment among the female portion of his
neighbors,
The new doctor was a fine-looking,
manly fellow, and it was soon ascer-
tained by all the single ladiesin the
viliage that he was unmarried.
In the course of a few weeks he had
an extensive practice.
In fact, it was really surprising to
observe how many blooming young
women who had hitherto enjoyed good
health, were suddenly afilicted with
headache and rheumatism.
The doctor also received invitations
to social gatherings, at one of which
he first saw Gracie Barton,a girl of
nineteen and the belle of the village.
Gracie was something of a coquette—
ber only fault. In other respects she
was just what a young woman should
be—kind, gentle and obliging.
Perhaps she had been a little spoiled
by the admiration she had always ex-
eited among the young men,
She was certainly a beautiful crea-
ture, finely formed and graceful in her
movements, with a lovely face, lighted
by a pair ot large, starry-brown eyes,
full of piquant expression.
It was not surprising that the doc-
tor was much pleased with his new ac-
quaintance.
Not many weeks after it was ascer-
tained that he had called upon her
aunt, and asked her permission to pay
his addresses to her niece. In fact, it
was soon discovered that, for some rea-
son or other, Gracie did not play the
coquette with the doctor, as it nad been
thought she would do.
People wondered thereat, but the
cause of her forbearance was simply
that Henry Sandford was the only man
she had ever loved.
Miriam Beak, one of the village
girls, not quite so attractive as Gracie,
had vainly endeavored to win the young
doctor.
She was not an amiable person—
was spiteful, envious, and in women’s
native eiement of love, disposed to be
revengeful,
She had hoped that Gracie, by her
coquetry with Sandford, would lgse
him. For she had observed, with the
quick perception of her sex, that the
doctor was not the sort of a man to be
trifled with. But when she perceived
that her rival showed no disposition to
“tease” her lover, she was both disap-
pointed and angry.
Resolved to make a desperate at
tempt to bring about the desired nis-
chief, she said one day to Gracie, on
meeting the latter:
“What do you think Dr. Sanford
said to me yesterday, when he called
on mother, who you know is one of his
patients? He said that you did not
dare to play off your coquetry with
him, as you had done with others.”
Gracie only smiled, but Miriam
knew that her shaft had taken the in-
tended direction.
The next time she met the doctor
the beautiful girl was cold and resery-
ed.
“Gracie,” Sandford finally said,
drawing his chair close to her side,
“you must know by this time that [
love yon. I have dared to hope that
you think enough of me to become my
wife.” {
She was silent. There was a flash
in her eyes such as he had never seen
there before.
“Now for my triumph,”she thought,
with difficulty hiding the expression of
the deep joy that thrilled her heart.
“He shall see whether I dare to tease
him or not.”
“You do not answer,” continued
Sandford. “I hope I have not been
mistaken.”
“And suppose you have been—what
then 2” she said, with a toss of her
head.
In that ease I would have to bear
my disappointment,” he answered,
sadly. .
“Don’t. pine away, I beg of you.
We could not afford to lose so good a
doctor.”
“I perceive I have been mistaken,”
said Sandford, quietly.
He arose, and without another word,
walked out of the house.
Gracie, all this time, sat like a statue.
Loving this man with all the strength
of her womanly nature, she had really
longed to throw herself on his breast
the moment he proposed to her.
Now he was gone.
Would he ever come “back to her
again ? Ier brain whirled—she felt
faint and dizzy.
Deeply did she regret that she had |
trifled with him. !
All the next day she sat hoping he |
would come to her., :
Bui this day and the next passed |
drearily away without her seeing him.
That very day Dr. Sandford lett the
village. # 7 I
It was soon known that he had
gone away, as doctor, aboard The
Wanderer—a merchant ship bound for
Japan from a neighboring seaport.
The captain, an old triead of hig, had
written to him, soliciting the accep-
tance of the position. .
Gracie was a girl of strong, des
feeling. = Her grief wore upon ‘her.
In vain she struggled against it. The
strength of her attachment overcame
her woman's pride:
Constantly did she behold little trifies
to remind her of her happy days with
Sandford. ; ;
There on the centre-table was the
pleasant book from which her Jover
had so often read to her. There, on the
mantle of her own room, was the little
ebony casket he had presented to her
as a keepsake.
She often picked it up now, and lTook-
ed at it with a strange, choking sensa-
tion in her throat.
Everything of this kind she saw only
served to remind ner that his leaving
her was her own fault. Had it been
his; her pride might have come to her
assistance.
Miriam, now that the doctor was
gone, regretted the falsehood she had
told Gracie, and which was the cause
of ail this trouble.
The sight of that pale, sad girl was
to her a continual reproach.
Days, weeks, and months rolled on.
At length came the news that Te
Wanderer had been lost at sea, with
all on board.
Gracie said nothing. She did not
even weep But she grew paler and
sadder, and her step becam slower.
At times she would look at her aunt
with a strange, wistful expression on
her face. Often she would sit for hours
in herroom, holding the little ebony
casket in her lap—turning it over and
over in her thin hands.
At last she said to heraunt, ina hol-
low voice, that almost broke the heart
of her tender, loving relative:
“Aunt, I am going away.”
“Going away?
“Yes, to join papa.”
Mr. Barton was in businessin Hono-
lulu, Sandwich Islands.
Well did Gracie’s aunt, with the
swift divination of a woman, know why
ber niece desired to go there,
It was in order that she might pass
over the great ocean, and, perhaps, in
looking at it, see the very spot where
her lover's vessel bad gone down.
The two at length sailed in a ship
called The Watchlight tor the Sandwich
Islands.
When at last the craft was within a
thousand miles of the port of her desti-
nation, Gracie, looking over the rail at
the white, roaring waters, brought her-
self to imagine that this was the place
where the ill-fated Wanderer had found-
ered.
-She watched it long and earuestly ;
then she went into the cabin and lay
down in her berth.
Her aunt found her there in a brain
fever.
For days she lay raving in wild delir-
ium, calling again and again on her
lover, bidding him come up from the
depths of the sea and take her down
there with him.
When Honolulu hove in sight the
fever had passed, but its victim was
low white, helpless and hollow-eyed.
The fiery diseased had left her so
weak that she could hardly move—
could speak scarcely above a whisper.
The cool air of the sea fanned her brow.
Through the open cabin window the
invalid could see the lines of waving
palms, and white strips of beach, with
huge breakers rolling in towards them,
and natives in their canoes skillfally
riding over the lofty surges. She
could only see them dimly, for her life
seemed slowly drifting away from her.
“You think then there is no hope ?”
whispered her aunt to the old doctor
who had attended her during her ill-
ness.
He slowly shook his head.
“I am afraid there is none,” he said.
Gracie smilea faintly. She seemed
to guess what the two were saying.
She placed her haed in that of her be-
loved relative.
“Good-bye, aunt,” she murmured.
“I know I must die, but I should like
to see papa before [ go.”
“A telegram inforging himJof your
illness was sent to him, dear, when we
were off the point. I expect him every
moment.”
Halt an hour passed, and still he
had not come.
Gracie vow lay white and still.
Scarcely was there a movement of the
eyelash.
The doctor looked at his wa'ch.
“She may not live ten minutes long-
er,’! he whispered to the aunt. :
All at once footsteps were heard on
the deck,
An almost unearthly expression
lighted up the hal'-~loscd eyes of Gracie.
A faint color tinged her cheek.
A form quickly descended the, com-
paniou stairs and sprang to the side of |
the suflerer’s berth.
“Henry Sandford! Dear Henry I
murmured Gracie, in an almost 1naubi-
ble voice.
“Doctor Sandford I" cried her aunt. |
It was, in fact, Henry Sandford who
had come—he who was supposed to
have been lost aboard The Wanderer.
“You now think there is hope, then?”
“Humph! I should think there
was!” chuckled the old physician.
“She has got the medicine she wanted
—the only medicine that could have
cured her.”
And he discreetly withdrew from the
cabin. j
! Explanations soon followed. The
young doctor, with several others, had
been saved by means of a floating spar
when their vessel founaered. They
{were picked ap the next day by a craft
| bound to the Sandwich Islands.
Sand-
ford then resolved to practice his pro-
fession at this place. mp
Among his patients was Mr. Barton,
Gracie’s father, whom he had lately
been called upon to attend for an at-
tack of the gout. As there were many
people in the world of the name of Bar-
ton, Sandford had no idea that this
person, of whom Gracie had never
happened to spedk, was her father, un-
til the telegram came.
Mr. Barton read it aloud to the doc-
tor, who was at that time with him,
and then, stricken with anguish that
his gout prevented his going to his dy-
ing child, he requested Sandford to
hurry aboard and try to save her.
Even before he spoke, Sandford had
started.
He was soon aboard on oae of the
swiftest boats in the harbor, and as
shown, he reached the ship in time.
1t is needless to say that Gracie rap-
idly recovered under the yoang doctor's
“treatment.”
She frankly explained to him the
cause of her conduct towards him when
he proposed to her, and he informed
her that he had never spoken the
words attributed to him by Miriam
Beak,
Four months later the happy couple
were married at the bouse of the bride's
father.
Two Cheap and Nice Dishes.
I once knew alady—she was English,
and the wife of a machinist earning a
moderate salary—who bought every
day of her life a piece of meat, either
beef or mutton, for baking, and after
her family had dined off it, the remain-
der was thrown away. I ventured once
to suggest that many nice little dishes
could be made from cold meat, but she
instantly silenced me by the avowal,
“We don’t like hashes,” adding, what
was the true reason of her wastefulness,
that she “wouldn’t take the trouble.”
Her children were always buying bak-
er’s cakes and buns, and a paper of
candy was perpetually lying about.
Reason manifest. they craved the va-
riety she refused to furnish.
But very few American ladies who
pay any attention to housekeeping
g.udge putting a little brains into cook-
ing. Brains, as we know, convert
bones into relishes. In the South there
is a homely saying, “Soup meat good
enough for niggars.” Yet, in truth,
soup meat, if properiydealt with, is good
enough for anybody. Now for the de-
monstration. A “knuckie” of veal
costs about ten cents. To convert it iu-
to a white soup and a delicious side dish
proceed as follows :
VEAL SOUP.
Wash the knuckle, put it into a
saucepan with three pints of cold water
and a level tablespoonful of salt. Sim-
mer tor one hour and a half. Then re-
move the knuckle, cut of all the meat
and put it aside. Restore the bones to
the kettle. Add to the broth two or
three sprigs of parsley, quarter of a
teaspoonful of pepper and the same of
celery salt. Stir either one rounded
tablespoonful of corn-starch or two of
flour into a cupful of sweet milk, add
this and half a gill of granulated tapi-
oca, or rice Let the soup boil showly
for one hour and a half longer, making
three hours in all. Remove the bones
before serving.
SIDE-DISH OR MINCE.
To the pieces cut from the knuckle
bone, add a small cooked slice of bacon
and a .small onion which has been
sliced and fried brown . in half a tea-
spoonful of butter. Chop very fine,
season With quarter of a teaspoonful of
pepper. Break in an egg and mix
lightly into a loaf. If the bacon has
not seasoned it sufficiently add half a
teaspoonful of salt. Have a small bak-
ing-dish buttered. Then take a cuptul
of cold boiled rice or pearl hominy
and line the dish thinly, bottom and
sides: © Put in a layer of the meat, them
a layer of rice, over which sprinkle a
few bits of butter ; then another layer
of the meat and another of rice without
butter. Put over the top a layer of
fine bread crumbs, lay the bits of but-
ter evenly ever them, and bake in a
moderate oven for half an hour. Ig
should be brown and crisp. When
cold, slice this Sand serve for luncheon
in a dish trimmed with parsley. Any
friend who happens in will probably
ask for the recipe.
When one has bought an’ ordinary
soup bone of beef, the meat may be cut
from the bone, after boiling for two
hours, and made into a side-dish or en-
tree preciseiy like the veal. The bones
will finish ‘the soup very well.— Good
Housekeeping.
r———
A Hero in Overalls.
Locomotive No. 69, of the Chicago
and Erie Rai.road, exploded last Satur-
day night, while hauling a freight train.
Fireman Kirby was blown from the cab,
sustaining fatal injuries. Engineer Mur-
phy, severely scalded jumped from the
wreck, breaking his leg as he did so.
The train ran seven hnndred feet before
halting. I
When help arrived Engireer Murphy
was found crawling on hands and knees
along the tract, carrying with him a lan-
tern to signal a passenger train which
was due in a few minutes. The train
was warned of the danger ahead, and
A new strength seemed to come with
him to Gracie. She partly rose, threw |
an arm around her lover's neck, and
laid her cheek on his breast.
The old doctor stared. oo
“The most wonderful ease I ever
heard of I" he cried.
“She knew Lim before ; ‘he was her
lover,” whispered Gracie's aunt to the
speaker, who, being a little deaf, had
not heard what had. been said by the
invalid when the young doctor entered
thejcabin, ,
“Oh! ah! T see.”
thus saved from disaster.
Could any: deed of valor on the battle-
field surpass in merit the act of this
bumble engineer, who though his flesh
was blistered by steam and his leg brok-
‘en, grimly set his teeth and dragged
. himself along the nesto avert the dan-
ger which threatened others ?
Congress awards medals to those who
Together we walked in the evening time,
Above us the sky spread golden clear,
And he bent his head and looked in my eves,
As if he held me of all most dear.
Oh, it was sweet in the evening time !
4
wheat 8 Li
Narrow thit path, aorbrouch the way.
Bat he was near, and. thé birds sang true,
And the stars came ont inthe twilight gray,
Ohiyit was sweet in the evening tim!
Softly he spokzef the days long past,
Softly of blessed davs to hoe :
Close to his arm, and closer I pressed,
The cornfield path was Eden to me.
hg itwas sweet in the evening time!
Grayer the | gh grew, and grayer still,
The oss listed: home through the purple
Be shade’ £24 y
The nightingales sang where the thorns stood
high .
As I walked with him ia the woodland glade,
' Oh it was sweet in the evening time!
And the latest gleams of daylight died ;
My hand in hisenfoided lay ;
We swept the dew from the wheat as we passed
For narrower, narrower, wound the way.
i Oh, it was sweet in the evening time!
He looked in the depth of my eyes and said ;
“Sorrow and gladness will come for us, sweet;
But together we'll walk through the fields of
life
Close as ‘we walked through the fields of
wheat.”
Young Lumberman’s Device.
How He Outwitted His
Father.
Sweetheart’s
In the Philadelphia Sunday Times
the following story of interest somewhat
local is related : :
“Another tale, in a more cheerful
strain, is tod of the great flood of June,
1889, which devasted the Susquehanna
Valley ut the same time the Johnstown
calamity occurred. A well-to-do resi-
dent, whose house stood close to the riv-
er, had a beautiful dauchter to whom a
handsome young lumberman had been
paying suit. For some reason the wooer
did not tind favor in the father's eyes
and he wus forbidden to communicate
with the girl. He continued his toil
and patiently bided his time. A few
days before the flood he started up the
river to assist in bringing down a raft.
The raft was duly started, but the water
continued to rise to such an extent that
it was deemed advisable to tie up. This
was found to be out of the question, as
the flood had covered the ‘“snubuing
posts,” and so the raft drifted on, carried
by the current. Scores of untenanted
houses were passed, and they finally ap-
proached the home of the voung man’s
sweetheart. As they drew near they
saw the whole family upon the roof
frantically beseeching for rescue. Aided
by the current the crew guided the raft
so that it just scraped the eaves of the
house, and with one accord the victims
began to leap upon the inodern ark.
The lover, however, seeing that his
sweetheart was safe, grasped a pike and
refused to let the father on board, shout-
ing, ‘Will you give me Mary 2 The
old man’s face depicted woefully the in-
ward strife between prejudice and self-
preservation, but meanwhile the raft was
slipping past, and a moment’s hesitation
would be fatal. ‘Take her,” he yelled,
the pike was withdrawn and he leaped
aboard¢ ‘hut, d n me,” he continued,
‘if 1 ever get you in a hole likethat, Bill,
I'll drown ye.’
“The couple were married at Lock
Haven.”
A —————
The Pickpocket’s Art.
The chief object of a pickpocket after
certainty, is speed. He cannot dally
with his victim by the hour. What he
does is to be over in s flash. Speaking
of pins and studs, there has never been a
fastening so complex but the expert
thieves could defeat in a motion. They
do in their business as fine work as any
Houdin, and the thief himself conld not
analyze or explain its detail. His pow-
ers of execution have gone far beyond
his power of perception or relation.
A pickpoccet consults. his own ner-
vous condition constantly. No fine la-
dy ever has such a time with her nerves
as this aristocrat of the outlaws. If he
does not feel right he won’t work.
“When he does, I've known one on
the impulse to take a car on some well
dressed and wealthy street, and seating
himself side to the window, survey the
shirt front of everywould-be passenger
a the car came up. The moment one
showed a diamond in his linen or cravat
the thief would hurry to the platform to
get off. He would time his mancuvres
so as to meet his man on the step of tha
car. They would collide. The thief’s
hat—a stiff silk or Derby—is in his left
hand, and covers his dexterous right,
which is put forward to protect its owner
in the collision, It touches the new-
comer right where the diamonds spark-
les, and is still covered by the hat in the
other hand. With an apology, the
thief steps out of the way. The whole
affair is the tenth part of a second, but
as he bows his resret he has the
diamond in that mysterious hand of his,
and, as I have said, he could not detail
the moves by which he attained it, even
it he should try. — Kansas City Star.
————
“De Gang” Was Astonished.
From a New York Letter.
A large nan walked into one of the
improvised polling booths in the vicin-
ity of Madison avenue, New York, on
the first day of registration. For or five
men sat around the tables, copying lists
and preparing their books. They paid
no attention to the comer until he said,
after waiting patiently for awhile:
“I would like to register.”
“Where do you live ?' inquired one
of the clerks rather grufily.
The rest looked. at the would-be voter
rather suspiciously.
“No. 816 Madison
reply.
“What's your name 2}
“Grover Cleveland.”
The man started as if he was shot
He was so excited that his book fell to
the floor, while “da’ gang’ rose to their
feet and awkwardly expressed their con-
fusion by removing their bats. Mean-
while the ex-President o! the United
States registered like any other citizen
and walked away very much amused.
— Elizabeth Comstock, the Qu aker
avenue,”
gallantly resend the drowning, and we.
‘distribute more than a hundred million |
dollars annually among survivors of the
late! war. Engineer Murphy deserves
both a medal and a pension.— New York
Telegram.
preacher, now aged and infirm, living
at Union’ Springs, N. "Y,, has in‘her |
lifetime visited 122,000 prisoners, 195,- |
000 stick and wounded soldiers, 85,000 |
inmates of poorhouses and, almshouses
on both sides of the water.
was the
|
They Tald Mr. Hill That Christ Was
ie ae ———————————————————— A CN TET TERE
THATW ALK THROUGH THE WHEAT. Duped by Spiritualists. . Elephants at Work.
The Hon. Carter H. Harrison in his
SusQUEHANNA, November 1.—1In the
And our pathway ent throught the falds of | Criminal Court of Susquehanna county,
Bn | ut Montrose to-day, there was concluded
one of the most singular cases in the hi:-
tory of the State Scores of witnesses gave
| their testimony and people from all over
this region crowded the court room ev-
in Urgent Need of Money.
| ery day. .
Olive Brown and her husband, Phil-
ander Brown, spiritualists,
| Browns represented that they were in
tirough their peculiar doctrine and
manifestations, such a hold over Paul
Hill, an aged man residing in Brook-
lyn towns ip and formerly of Iowa, as |
to obtain from him nearly $3,000.
communication with the spiritual world,
that Jesus Christ was in need of money
and that Hill must furnish some to be
favored ; also that Hill’s first wife, now
in the spirit land, needed money for
clothing, etc. :
Hill trom time to time furnished mon-
ey, which was placed ina beltin the
presence of the trio. During the night
the money would vanish, and Hill be-
lieved it went to the spiritland. While
on the witness stand Hill told of the
manner in which the spirits instructed
himself and wife to do various things,
and of hearing the spirits singing “1 ‘am
so Glad That Jesus Loves Me.” They
also heard railway trains running in
heaven and saw wills turning out lum-
ber to build the heavenly city. = Mrs.
Hill often conferred with St. Peter and
St. Paul and with Mr. dill’s first wife.
After a long deliberation the jury found
the prisoners guilty, and they will be
sentenced on Friday.
One Trial Was Enough.
“When the Kansas Pacific was first
opened,” said B. W. Vedder, a locomo-
tive engincer, ‘the Indians were very
hostile, and there was consta..t fear that
they would wreck the trains. That
they did not is due to their ignorance of
the iron horse and of the best methods of
destroying it.
“One of my firemen had an experience
with the Cheyennes that he will never |
forget. He was on the road near Fort
Wallace. when he saw that the Indians
had cut the telegraph wire, and knew
that he might look out for squalls.
They were never satisfied with simply
cutting the wire, but chopped it into
inch pieces with their tomahawks to ef-
fectually stop the mysterious messages.
As the train came near a large patch of
sunflowers ‘which grew on both sides of
the track over 100 Indians rose up and
stretched a strong rope across the track,
braced themselves, and prepared to re-
ceive the shock of the locomotive. As
was afterward learned, they had taken
rawhide strips, braided them together,
and with a force of fifty at each end of
the rope, thought that they would be
able to stop the train. The instant the
locomotive struck the rope the air was
tull of Indians. They were thrown in
all directions. Some were jerked clear
across the train, and more than a
dozen were killed or seriously irjured.
This was the last attempt made for years
to step the trains.”
The Quinine Ha#it. .
The quinine kabit is astonishingly on
the increase. The New York maiden
who scorns cigarettes and who knows
not morphine is becoming a willing
slave to the insignificent-looking little
quinine pill, which she swallows at all
times and under all circumstances. She
carries a dainty vial with her and, upon
the most trivial excuse, out comes the
stopper and down goes the quinine—two,
tour, six grains. as the case may be.
Colds, indigestion, headache, ennui,
all have their panacea in this dose. The
saddest part of itis that the girls will
not induigequietly and unostentatiously.
They swallow the pills openly, they dis-
cuss the matter openly, they persuade
their friends to go and do likewise.
Naturally their heads buzz like a saw
mill, but such trifles have no effect upon
them.
There is one thing which should be
brought to their attention, however, and
itis this ; according to the best physi-
cians, quinine, taken in large quantities,
produces deafness —New York World.
She Kept Both.
Congressman Kilgore, of Texas, tells
the following story: “During the war
while on furlough, I pulled up at a
cabin in Louisiana. There wus no one
there but a woman. I bad $1 in my
pocket, which 1 offered to pay fora
chicken which was smoking on the table.
She refused to sell, but was willing to
wager the chicken against the dollar
that she could beat me jumping, T to
make the first jamp starting from the
doorstep. I took a survey of the very
short woman. I was a long legged cuss,
and I put the dollar on the table by the
chicken. "I then took a position on ths
doorstep, and swung my hands to and fro,
plaming for my flizht through the air.
Then I lit out. By the time I hit the
ground and turned to see the woman
follows, she had shut thedoor and fasten-
ed it on theinside. The only thing I could
see was the muzzle of a double barreled
shot gun.”
‘He Wasn't Up IN Navrican TERMS,
—Alonzo Gushington (to Miss Anasta-
sia Prim, his afiance I)—See von yacht,
Anastasia. how it lingers near: the
shore, as if loath to leave it. [| am as
the yacht, with you the shore. Anasta-,
sia.
Miss Anastasia (stifflv)—Alonzé, vou
are not a nanticalavan, ae vou?
Young Gushington—No, Anastasia.
Miss Anastasia—Then T pardon vou.
Youne Gushington ==Pardon me,
Anastasia 2 Why pardon ?
Miss Anastasia—Because you are
evidently not aware that von yacht is
hugging the shore.
rua
Sundav-school Teacher — “And
when the wicked children continned
mocking the good prophet two she bears
came out of the, mountain and ate up
over forty of the wicket children. * Now
bovs, what iesson does this tench ns 2°
Jimpsy Primwosé~2¢T know.”
“Well, Jimsy?” _ +
“It teaches us how mang children a
she bear can hold."
the
against the others,
aside and guided his piece through them
with a sagacity almost human.
and tugeed
a whispered word from the mahout and
the promise of nice food he bent to it.
Still it stuck.
for half a mile, he got on his knees,
straightened out his hind legs, and put
bis whole force intoa push.
successful,
satisfaction in the gentle flaps ot his
huge ears and the gracafal curve of his
proboscis as he put it up to the mounted
answer, but cast
“Race with the Sun,” describes a visit to
some timber yards and saw mills in Rune
goon, where he saw what he callz the
lions of the eity—the working elephant.
The lumber ‘s not sawed into boards,
but the slab is taken off and the good
stuff left in the form of square timbes.
The logs are many of them three feeu in
diameter and thirty or forty feet lon.
These the elephants draw from the river
and pile in systematic order. Then,
when they are needed, they roll then, t»
to the ways and assist in adjusting then
for the saw.
After the log is cut the elephant goes.
among the machinery, takes the slabs:
The | away and carries the good timber and
piles it up or lays it ently upon the ox
carts to be bauled off. :
While we were present a carpenter
wanted lumber fiom a particular io.
which was under several others One of
monsters rolled the upper logs off
and pushed the chosen stick to the mill,
The way was not clear—the log butt d
He pushed these
His stick became wedged, He pushed
it would not budge, but at
With a whistle audible
He was
We could almost read bis
mahout, asking for his reward.
Sticks more than two feet thick and
twenty feet long are lified bodily upon
the great ivories and are then carried off
aud laid upon the gangways so gently as
not to make a jar.
elephants carrying such a timber along
a path not three feet wide among masses
of loose logs.
We saw oue of the
He had to plant his fore feet upon the
logs, and thus walk a con.iderable dis-
tance.
ing upon his hind fezs. The corner of n
frail little bamboo hut stood in his way.
He looked as if he were walk-
He lifted the log over the roof, and bent
is body so that his sides gently scraped
the corner of the house and did not shake
it. A hundredth part of his weight
would have caused it to topple from its
pile foundation.
A RN ———————
What Lies Beyond.
Wayland Hoyt repeats a story which
has come down from the Sixteenth cen-
tury of Philip Neri, the saint.
A young man, a student “in a famous
Italian University, came running to tell
him of his aims of life. He had entered
the law sho)l because of its wide reputa-
tion, and would spare no pains to get
through with his studies as soon as pos-
sible.
“Well,” said the saint, “when you
have got through your course of study
what do you mean to do then 2”
“Then I shall take my doctor's de-
gree.”
“And then?”
“Then I shall have a number of diffi-
cult questions to manage, and shall
catch people's notice by my eloquence
snd by my acuteness, andfzain a great
reputation.”
And then 70
“Why, then there can be no question
but I shall be promoted to some high
office, and shall make money and grow
rieh.’?
“And then ?7
“Then I shall be comfortably and
honorably situated with wealth and dig-
nity.”
“And then ?”
“And then I—T shall die.”
“And then ?”
‘Whereupon the yonng man made no
down his eyes and
went away,—Sl. Louis Republic.
Three Rude Scamps Well Answered,
Two or three idle young men were
lounging around a street corner the
other evening just as the down-town
stores were sending home their employes.
“Let’s have some fun with the girls 1”
said the ringleader of the trio. “See
that girl in the front seat of the grip ?
Let’s speak to her!” Then, ss the ear
stopped at the corner, the impudent fel-
low tipped his bat, with how do you do
Kittie Johnson I” «Why, says another
“if that isn’t Kittie Johnson I”? «How
d’ye do Kittie 77 said the third. The
young lady, a pretty, Indvlike girl, was
surprised and indignant. Her face
grew white and red by turns, Most of
the passengers understcod the situation.
Finally, the girl, her eyes twinkling
with merriment, and conscious of the
support of her fellow-passengers, an-
swered in a clear ringing voice that
every passenger could hear, “Why, how
do ‘you do, Tom, Dick and Harry I
When did you get. out of jail ? Who
went bail for you all 7 The car start-
ed up amid a storm of applause, while
the dudes on the corner smiled sickly
grins at each other.— Chicago Journal.
— Many disease germs enter
through an open month. The ' mouth
was not made for breathing. but for eat-
ing and speaking. The nose was, made
for breathing, and air, passing through
the long moist nasal passage, is purified
and lenves behind dust, disease germs
and various impurities, while the air is
warmed and tempered tor the lungs.
But when the mouth is left open, dust
dirt and disease run down into the lungs
and fustening, there, develope and de-
stroy the whole system.
—— About eighty-eight million bush-
els of Ameriean corn were exported to
foreign murketsin 1889. In 1888 cnly
about 23,000,000 bushels were exported.
The demand for American corn in for-
eivn markets steadily increases as the
value of that product as an
food is better appreciated. As a sub-
stitute for oil cake for stock its demand
1s also increasing.
The artificial hatching of chick
ens hus been practiced in Egypt for 3000
years, the old process being found: more
effectual than the so-called inventions of
this country.” Our’ consul general at
| Cairo tells ud in his last report that the ©
marketable crop of artifeially hatched
chickens in Kgvpt for the curient, year
is over 15,000,000, and this was’ not a
flourishing season either.
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