——
Bemornai; Wada
Bellefonte, Pa., Oct. II, 1895.
THE DIFFERENCE.
EY GERTRUDE M. CANNON.
Beauty lies within ourselves,
After all, they say ;
And, be sure, the happy heart
Makes the happy day.
In a cool and shady garden
Phyllis sat. The roses’ scent
Fanned a face whereon were written
Restlessness and discontent.
Lilies nodded bluebells tinkled,
Birds sang sweetly in the trees;
Merry talk and joyous laughter
Sounded on the summer breeze.
“0,” sighed Phyllis, “I am stifling,”
And she raised her pretty head.
“I'm sure tis going to shower—
What a horrid day !" she said.
In a warm and dusty city
Janey, pinched and wan and white,
Leaned against a heated building,
Longing for the cool of night.
Suddenly she spied a floweret,
Pale and slender at her feet.
“0 1” she cried, and stooped to pluck it ;
Looking up in rapture sweet
through the crowded housetops, Janey
Caught a glimpse of blue o‘erhead,
And she kissed the little posy—
“What a lovely day !” she said.
Beauty lies within ourselves,
After all, they say:
And the glad and happy heart
Makes the happy day.
‘HE NAMED THE DAY.
Hie name was Jim Hitchens, and
he was a carpenter “to his trade.”
Her name was Melia, and she was old
Binks, daughter, and the little brass
plate affixed to the door of her modest
home hore the inscription, “Miss
Binks, Dressmaker,"”
Mies Binks was a very genteel
young woman, and in aspiring to keep
company with her Jim Hitchens was
considered to be decidedly “bettering”
himself, :
Keeping company being, 1t should
be observed, a sort of intermediary
process, something between mere or-
dinary acquaintanceship and that
more definite and satisfactory condi-
tion which is assumed only on being
actually invited to “name the day.”
Consequently, when I repeat that
Jim Hitchens and Miss Binks were
keeping company, I do not wish to
imply that they were by any means
arrived at that blissful condition which
in a higher walk of life, is known as
“being engaged.” .
Oh, dear, no! Matters were not
nearly so far advanced as that, though
it was poesible that, with time and
care, they might reach such a
point.
Jim Hitchens had not been keeping
company with Miss Binks for more
than 15 years at a scratch and those
people who insisted on reckoning the
time as 25 did not really know the ins
and outs of the affair half so well as
they pretented, the additional ten
years which they thus indiscriminately
tacked on to the period of probation
having merely passed in a species of
light ekirmishing and entirely without
prejudice.
And so they kept company.
Every Sunday afternoon at 3:30
Jim, in all the unaccustomed glory of
a clean shave and his Sunday suit—
you could tell his Sunday suit at the
end of the street by the creases in it—
called for Mies Binks, and they made
a colemn progress ‘‘down street” or
“up street,” as inclination or the force
of circumstances directed.
There was not a great deal of con-
versation indulged in, because in or-
der to converse brilliantly itis, if not
neceseary, at least advisable to have
some topic on which to express opin-
ions. Consequently, as Miss Binks
had no opinions outside her own busi-
nese. and always talked most freely
with a row of pins between her teeth,
and Jim Hitchens was equally cir-
cumscribed in his ideas, not’ many
words passed between them on these
occaeione.
Just as the gentleman was on the
point of taking his departure the lady
would be apparently struck by an orig-
inal idea.
“I 8’pose you wouldn't come in and
take a cup o’ tea along o’ father and
me ?"’ she would inquire with modest
diffidence,
This unexpected invitation, though
repeated Sunday after Sunday as the
years rolled by, never failed to take
Mr. Hitchens entirely by surprise.
“Well,” rubbing his left whisker, “I
dunno, but o’ course if you puts it that
way, Miss Binke, why”'—
Then she would open the door, and
he would follow her meekly into a
little room where a little old man
would be dozing peacefully in an el-
bow chair, with a blue cotton handker-
chief spotted with white over his
head. :
Mise Binks would take off the ket-
tle, and then turning to the little old
man bend down and shout in his ear :
“Fa-ther, here's Mr. 'Itchens come
to take tea along o' you.” =
Whereupon her little old parent
would whisk the blue cotton handker-
chief off his head and betray vast as-
tonishment at the sight of the visit-
or.
‘Lor,’ now, to think o’ that, Mis-ter
'Itchens! Well, bless me, this is a
surprise.”
After tea Jim invariably escorted
Miss Binks to chapel and sat beside
her in the gallery.
His words on parting from her at
the door—for matters were not ad
vanced to the state that he could ex-
pect to be asked to supper, supper be-
ing a more confidential and com-
promising meal than tea—would be
something in this style :
“I duono, Miss Binks, whether
vou’d be thin’in’ o’ takin’ a walk next
Sunday if the weather ‘olds up ?"'
To which Miss Binks would reply
with maidenly hesitation :
“Well, I 'ardly know what to say
about it, Mr. ’'Itchens. You see, it
depends upon father. He's gettin on
and—well, if you care to walk down
this way it.don’t take me long to put
on my bonnet’—
By this and the foregoing examples 'ly without parallel in the annals of his '
it will be seen that the interesting
pair had not yetarrived at that degree
of intimacy that would warrant the
use of Christian names.
One day, however, old Binks woke
up from his afternoon nap, and draw-
ing aside the blue -veil of mystery in
which he was wont to enshroud his
wrinkled countenance during these per-
iods of somnolency made the following
remarkable assertion :
‘’Melia, my gal,” regarding his
daughter as she~brought all the re
sources of her art to bear upon a dress
she was turning out_for the butcher's:
wife atthe corner, “Melia, my gal,”
he piped, “you're a-gittin’ on, ain't
you ?”
Miss Binks, with her mind engross-
ed with the subject of box plaits, to
say nothing of having made a tempor-
ary pincushion of her mouth, refused
under these circumstances to commit
herself to anything beyond a mon-
osyllable grunt.
“That young man o’ yourn, ‘Melia,
he’s been comin ’ere gettin’ on fur
some time now ?”’
Again Miss Binks assented, or dis-
sented, for thesound was noncommit-
tal, and wondered what “father” was
driving at—a question which he at
once proceeded to answer for her.
“Is’pose, ‘Melia, he ain’t begun to
say nothin to you, ‘bout ’is hinten-
tions yet awhile ?”
“No,” snapped Miss Binks, taking
a row or two of pins out of her mouth
and stabbing a refractory box plait in
its most vulnerable part, “not yet he
ain’t.”
“Pears to me, 'Melia,” continued
her parent, who had apparently been
thinking hard before he again spoke,
“that it’s time as somethin were said
by one or t'other. I courted your
mother fowerteen year and three
month, and though I don’t go so_fur
as to say I ’olds wi’ short courtships
as a rule, still I niver 'ad no reason to
repent. though they dosay marry in
‘aste and repent at leeshure. P’raps
you'd like me to speak to Jim, friendly
like, and put itto 'im ? Not as there's
no need fur 'urry, but somethin might
be said def'nie’ as to the year arter
next, or if that were considered too
soon, the one arter that, fur, though I[
doesn’t ‘old wi’ ’urryin things on,
neither, "Melia, my gal, does I ’old wi’
shillyshallyin.”
Miss Binks, before replying to her
parent's proposition, bit off a thread
and seemed to be turning the matter
over in her mind and weighing its
pros and cone.
Then, with merely some half dozen
pins in her mouth, she “up” and
spoke, and her words were the words
of wisdom :
“Well, father, I won't go for to deny
as I’aven’t thought as Jim 'Itchens
were a bit over back’ard in comin for-
rard, and I know the neighbors do talk,
80 p’raps if you could give ’'im an ’int
it might help ’im to know ’is own
mind, which he don’t seem to do not
at present, and if it don’t dono good I
don’t see as it could do much arm.”
Here the clock, giving way to ex-
citement, struck 11 without stopping
to take breath.
“Mind you,” ¢ontinued Miss Binks,
as s0on as the clock had done speak-
ing, and pointing at her father with
her needle, “I don’t want for you to be
’ard on 'im, only jest to find out what
’is hintentions is, or whether he’s got
any or’s likely to ave,”
So in the morning old Binks put on
his hat—or rather his daughter put it
on for him, jamming his head well
home—and took his stick and toddled
off “down street,” charged with the
delicate mission of plumbing the un-
known depths of Jim Hitchens’ matri-
monial inclinations.
What transpired in the course ot
this momentous interview has never
been divulged. Possibly old Binks
himself might have been to blame in
that delicacy and tact for which it pre-
eminently called.
At any rate, when he returned home
it was plain that the little old man
had been considerably ‘put about.”
This at once made itself evident to his
daughter, who met him at the door,
and taking from him his hat and
stick inquired, in a voice in which not
even the presence of pins between her
lips could disguise the signs of interest
amounting almost to eagerness :
“Well, tather ?"
“Not at all, "Melia, not at all,” was
the tremulous reply. “I should say
anythin but sich !
“Lor', father !” exclaimed Mies
Binks, with an attempt to quell her
rising agitation by placing her hand
on her heart—an attempt that was
balked by a rampart of her favorite
implements of extra large size. ‘Lor’,
father I”
She could say no more, but laying
violent hands on her parent's coat col-
lar she bore him across the flagged
passage into the front room, where,
depositing him in his elbow chair, she
mounted guard over him. ‘Now, fa
ther speak your mind.”
“Melia, my gal, it’s my belief as
he’s bin makin a fool o’ you. Least-
ways, all as I could get out 0’ 'im when
I puts it to 'im straight, was as he
weren't prepared to go to sich lengths
as to menshin any perticler date, as he
couldn’t abide being ’urried, nor yet
drove—drove was his very words,
'Melia—as he niver see no good come
o'it. All he could and would say was
as he'd be round as usual come Sun-
day.”
“Father,” cried Miss Binks in a
voice choked by emotion and pins,
“jest you leave 'im to me |”
Sunday came, 80 did Jim Hitchens.
Hr. Hitchens leaned against the
fence and chewed a twig, wondering at
the unusual time taken by his lady-
love in putting on her bonnet.
He turned and looked up at the win-
dow, but Miss Binks was too quick
for him and dodged behind the cur-
tain.
Once the idea of going boldly up to
the door and making inquiries pre-
sented itself to him, but the idea being
altogether too venturesome, and entire-
courtship, was abandoned as soon as
formed. *
Then the church clock struck the
quarter before 4, and with a start Mr.
Hitchens realized that his "Melia was
not forthcoming that day.
Mr. Hitchens was flabbergasted. As
he slowly turned and left the gate it
was to him almost as though the uni-
verse were turned upside down.
Mr. Hitchens rubbed his left whisk-
er against the grain and opined that
this “were a queer start!” So she
meant to give him a go by after all
these years, did she? And all be-
cause—at least, he s8’posed that must
be it—he wasn’t altogether prepared
to rush off and get married in about a
couple of year’s time !
On the whole, he wasn’t sure that
he hadn't had a lucky escape. Such
a display) of temper as he had just
been treated to seemed to indicate
plainly that she was not the sort of
young woman to have made him com-
fortable. A party as would turn nasty
over such a little thing as that wasn’t
the right party for him.
Allthe same, as he passed absently
along, he was conscious that the pros-
pect of commencing another lengthy
courtship at this time of life seemed a
very uphill and doubtful sort of one.
As to the lady herself, no sooner did
she realive that she had actually sent
Jim Hitchens to the right about than
she sat down and had a good cry and
forgot all about putting the kettle
on.
There was, as may be imagined,
considerable comment in the town
when it became generally known that
the courtship of Jim Hitchens and
Miss Binks had come to an unexpect-
ed and untimely termination.
In fact, it was such a universal
topic and source of comment ‘and in-
terest that wherever two or three, par-
ticularly of the gentler sex, were gath-
ered together, they were sure to be en-
gaged in discussing the latest author-
ized version of the affair.
Gradually, from the time that Miss
Binks had refused to put on her bon-
net for the benefit, Jim Hitchens’ ap-
petite steadily declined, so that his
Sunday clothes, when he had sufficient
strength of mind to don them, hung on
him in bigger creases than before, his
tendency to knocknees increased, and
he became more drab colored than
ever.
Spring passed, summer came,
autumn went and winter was at hand,
when one day things went round that
Jim Hitchens, who had for a month or
two past been troubled with a little
hacking cough, had taken to his
bed.
“Melia, my gal,” said her father
about a fortnight later, “I've jest been
‘earin as ’ow the doctor’s got but
small ‘opes o’ Jim 'Itchens, and—Lor,
"Melia I”
Miss Binks had uttered a sharp in-
voluntary cry. But it was nothing she
had assured her parent, only a pin
that she had stuck a little too
deep.
The eame afternoon, however, she
effectually ruined the kettle’s constitu-
tion for life by putting it on to boil—
empty.
The next morning—it was Sunday—
she received a message. She had
packed her old father off to chapel as
usual, and was giving as much of her
attention as was available to the din-
ner when it arrived.
It was to the effect 'as Mr. ’Itchens
presented he’s compliments to Miss
Binks and would be ’appy to see er if
she would be so good as to step up
that arternoon ’bout 3 o'clock or ha’-
past.”
Jim Hitchens lived in a little drab
cclored corner house, about half way
down High street. Since his illness a
married sister had come over from one
of the neighboring villages to look
after him, else he had always lived
alone, with a woman to come in now
and, then “to do for him.”
He was so weak and such a ghost of
his former self that Miss Binks’ feel-
ing became too much for her, and she,
80 to speak, boiled over at the sight of
him, just like the kettle.
“Ob, Jim,” she cried, casting eti-
quette to the winds, “Oh, Jim, my
dear, whatever 'ave you been a-doin of
to yourself 2"
“Nothin, Miss Binks, nothin _to
speak of,” was the feeble reply.
Then, as she sat down hy the side of
the bed and listened to his labored
breathing, her heart smote her more
and more for her faithlessness and
cruelty in the past, until the tears
ran even down her bonnet strings,
rusting all the pins they encountered
and taking the starch out of her best
collar.
Half an hour or so passed without
another word being uttered on either
side. Then the sick man made an ef-
fort.
“You'll be wonderin, Miss Binks,
why I've took the liberty to send for
you, ouly—you see—the doctor, he
don’t seem to think as ‘ow I'll last
much longer—but—afore I go—I
thought as I owed it to you—seein ‘ow
long we kep’ company—to’’—
The voice was so weak that Miss
Binks had to lean down and put her
ear almost to his mouth to catch the
meaning of the last words.
“To—ask you—to—name the day!”
Jim Hitchens died the same week,
but not before Miss Binks had the sat-
isfaction of knowing that “the day,”
Po long delayed, had been fixed at
ast.
“An,” she used to say to ber sym-
thizing friends, “pore Jim | We kep’
company a goodish while, me and ’it,
and the very day was fixed—it
were to a-been June twelvemonth—
when he up and died. ’Owsomever, it
were a great comfort to know as is
hintentions was honnoruble at the
last."—A!l the Year Round.
Superfluous Formality.
“Sorry, madam, but you will have to
get somebody to identify you.”
“The idea! Don’t you see my name
right there on the check ?”’— Boston
Transcript.
Defender's Yaller Dog.
It Belongad to the Colored Cook In a Providence
Restaurant,
No animal in contemporary history
has reached the proud eminence of the
Defender’s yaller dog. Poems have
been dedicated to the canine which tri-
umphantly offset all the ill luck which
hung to America’s pride before the rac-
es were sailed, pictures of the dog in all
kinds of attitudes have adorned the
newspaper columns, and the entire pa-
triotic country has taken off its hat to
the animal which outstarred the black
goat.
It is the purpose of this little tale to
furnish a few facts concerning this yal-
ler dog. A great many newspaper re-
porters asked Mr. Iselin where he got
the canine, but the answers were usual-
ly vague. Now, however, it can be
stated that the dog was from Providence
and its owner didn’t know until Mon-
day what had become of his yaller
beauty. As a matter of fact, to an un-
prejudiced eye it wasn’t a beauty. It
was the homeliest dog that ever was,
but the man who mourns for it doesn’t
see it that way.
It isn’t but a few weeks ago that Mr.
Iselin decided that he wanted that kind
of a mascot. He was in Bristol when
he made up his mind to it, and he asked
a number of people who the best man
was to find such a dog as he wanted.
There was but one reply, and it was
unanimous :
“Blondie Rawson,” they all said.
So Mr. Iselin hunted up Blondie
Rawson and told him what was wanted,
and Blondie began his search. He
hunted all over Bristol, but while there
were plenty of dogs and plenty of yal-
ler dogs in the town there wasn’t the
real yallerest yaller that he wanted.
So he gave it up there and came to
Providence.
He cruised around here for some days
with an eye single to dogs. Every yal-
ler dog was eagerly scrutinized, and
many an inoffensive and humble canine
came very near having fame thrust up-
on him by being selected as the De-
fender’s mascot. But they weren’t yal-
ler enough. &
Blondie Rawson had almost given up
the search in despair when one warm
day in the early part of the month he
stood on the corner of Westminster and
Union streets, wiping the perspiration
from his brow. He turned around to
look through Union street as the young
women came out of the dry goods stores.
As he looked a big dog lying on the
sidewalk in front of a restaurant arose,
and in plain sight of Blondie Rawson
ambled with all the grace of a cow into
the restaurant. That little stroll settled
the dog’s fate and lifted him out of ob-
seurity.
- Blondie Rawson went through Union
street and took a look at the dog. He
was the deepest dyed yaller dog that
ever was or ever will be. He wasn’t
reaily pretty as Blondie looked at bim,
but the chrome color of him offset every
other lack of beauty which he possessed.
Blondie Rawson went into the restau-
rant and found out that the dog was the
property of Paul Batiste, the colered
cook, >
“Want to sell your dog ?’’ he asked.
“No, indeed,” was the answer.
“Don’t wan’ ter sell him nohow.”
It wasn’t any use to tell Batiste who
wanted the dog, because Blondie Raw-
son reflected that the price would go up
out of sight forthwith. And besides the
owner said he wouldn’t sell the dog to
anybody for anything. So Blondie
Rawson, who had made up his mind to
get that dog anyway, decided that he
must have recourse to strategy.
He hunted up another colored man
and told him to buy Batiste’s dog. He
said he must have that dog regardless of
the price.
‘“Ah’ll fetch that dawg, boss,”’ con-
fidently announced the new ally. “Ah
never seed no dawggone dawg ah
couldn’t get if ah set out to.”
Blondie Rawson went away with re-
newed confidence. The colored man
looked as if he meant business, though
before going Blondie Rawson enjoined
the man to purchase the dog and not
-| get it any other way.
A few mornings after this Batiste
showed up in the restaurant with a
mournful face. The young women em-
ployed there asked him what the mat-
ter was.
“Somebody stole my dog,” he said.
“I'll bet a dollar that it was the feller
who wanted to buy him.”
And at that time Blondie Rawson
didn’t know thing about the dog’s dis-
appearance. When the colored man
showed up with the animal, Rawson
did a joyful ghost dance.
“Did you buy him ?”
“Of co’se ah bo’t him,” said the col-
ored man. “Don’t think ah’d steal
him do you?”
Blondie Rawson hastened to smooth
down the ruffled plumage of his indig-
nant assistant.
“Yes,” went on the latter, “an ah
never see such a man. He wouldn't sell
that dawg nohow an ah had to give
him a pretty stiff price.’
“Never mind,’ soothed Blondie Raw-
son. “I'll pay you back and give you
a good present for the. work you had.”
And he did so. Then he took the dog
to Mr. Iselin, and the latter pronounced
him just the thing. They carried him
away on the Defender, far away from
the Union street restaurant, to fame and
glory such as he had never dreamed of"
A journal man dropped into the res-
taurant Monday morning and asked Ba-
tiste if he had lost a yaller dog.
“That’s what I have,” was the an-
swer, ‘‘and I'd like to find him.”
“Don’t you know what become of
him ?”
“No.”
“Would you like to ?”’
“Indeed I would,” said the cook.
“Well, he’s the yaller dog of the De-
fender.
‘“Wh-a-at ?”’ The eyes of Batiste al-
most popped out of their sockets. He
dropped a piece of steak on the floor in
his excitement. The young women in
the place laughed merrily.
Batiste never moved a muscle, while
The Journal man walked out. He was
{ absolutely transfixed with astonishment.
{And this is the true story of the ori-
| gin of the defender’s mascot, that yal-
| ler, yaller dog.—Providence Journal.
| ASAT
| ——When you find 8 man of whom
| it is said that he has his heart in the
{ right place, there is apt to be something
wrong with his head.
| to the sufferers.
Are You Superstitious ?
Are you superstitious ? I pride my-
self that I am not. Nevertheless, I do
not often pass a stray pin without pick-
ing it up and thinking of the old couplet
about good luck. Neither, to tell the
truth, do I escape a somewhat uncanny
feeling when I happen to find myself in
company with 12 other people. The
fact is that all of us, no matter how
much we may pride ourselves on our
superiority to such things, bave hidden
away somewhere more less deep, a vein
of superstition which we won't
acknowledge to any one except oursel-
ves, and then only when we are feeling
particularly honest toward ourselves.
* *
*
But it is really astonishing the
amount of superstition which, on the
eve of the 20th century, still enters into
the everyday life ot the people, with the
effect of making many more or less un-
comfortable. In most parts of Europe
it is oR unlucky for a hare to
cross the road in front of a traveler.
Among the Romans this omen was so
unfortunate that if a man started upon
a journey espied a hare on the road be-
fore him he would return and wait until
the following day to begin his journey.
The old Raman superstition survives
here, although it is the family cat in-
stead of the hare which is the hoodoo. I
knew of a man who said he hadn’t any
superstitions at all, but who finally con-
fessed that he didn’t like to have a cat
cross his path when leaving home, and
that it required all his resolution not to
turn back. And there are many intel-
ligent persons, of whom you wouldn’t
believe such a thing, who really do turn
back and put themselves to incon-
venience when pussy happens to cross
their way.
* % <x
Carrying a shovel through a Louse is
bad lack, but in this case, as in that of
the pin picking, the origin of thesaying
is obvious, the superstitions being in-
tended to teach the virtue of neatness
and frugality. Akin to these is the
English and Scotch superstition that if
milkmaids forget to wash their hands
after milking, the cows will go dry.
This superstition, it is needless to say, is
diligently fostered by the owners of the
cows. The fact is that superstitions
will often be found to be very useful
agents in improving the condition of
people who, but for their weird in-
fluence, would not be as admirable citi-
zens as they are, and they also operate
for good upon many who would public-
ly scorn to admit that they had been
swayed in the slightest degree by them.
And, again, an apparently foolish super-
stition, when traced back to its origin,
will often be found to be but the thick
veil of some great truth.—Pitisburg
Times. .
Nine Days Adrift.
The Startling Experience of a Man 85 Years Old.
At Yarmouth, N. S., some days ago,
a man was found on the beach on the
northwest side of Briar Island, about
exhausted, and close by in a gully was
a sloop-rigged boat about twenty feet
long. He was taken into Mr. Holland
Graham’s house, and Dr. White, of
Boston, who is spending a vacation at
Captain J. D. Pagyson’s house attended
him. In about twenty-four hours he
fully recovered consciousness, but is
still very weak.
The man is Peter Powers, of Long
Island, Mount Desert, Me. He is 85
years old. He has been nine days
adrift without food except a few apples,
which he pounded and sucked the juice
of, but had no water. He had sold
some fish at a place called Bartlett’s Is-
land, or Bartlett’s Landing. He left for
his home, but put in at Tremont on
Tuesday night.
Wednesday morning he left for home
1n a thick fog, and he says his compass
must have been wrong, and he has since
been drifting around till bis boat ran
ashore Thursday, on Briar Island, and
he crawled ashore where he fell. He
says on Wednesday he heard what he
thought was a steamer whistle, but
what was probably the fog whistle at
Cape Forchu. He tried to get toward
it, and then the weather being fine he
went asleep and knew nothing more till
he felt the boat strike, and then crawled
out, and finding a stream of water
drank the first draft he had had for nine
days and then fell exhausted where he
was found.
Wise Words of Wise Men.
The leaders of industry, if industry is
ever to be led, are virtually the captains
of the world ; if there is no nobleness in
them, there will never be an aristocracy
more, — Thomas Carlyle.
Morality is the object of government.
We want a state of things in which
crime will not pay, a state of things
which allows every man the largest lib-
erty compatible with the liberty of every
other man.— Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Free speech is to a great people what
winds are to the oceans and malarial re-
gions, which waft away the elements of
disease and bring new elements of
health ; and where freespeech is stopped
miasma is bred and death comes fast.—
Henry Ward Beecher.
The peculiar evil of silencing the ex-
pression of an opinion is, that it is rob-
bing the human race—posterity as well
as the existing generation, those who
dissent from the opinion, still more than
those who hold it. If the opinion is
right, they are deprived of the opportu-
nity of exchanging error for truth ; if
wrong, they lose, what is almost as
great a benefit, the clearer perception
and livelier impression of truth, pro-
duced by its collision with error.—John
Stuart Mill.
The best we can do for one another is
to exchange our thoughts freely.—-
James Anthony Froude.
Here 1s Gratitude for You.
During the great flocd at Johnstown
in 1889 Buffalo Bill contributed $8,000
The other day he had
his wild west show there and they as-
sessed him $200 license. There’s noth-
ing like gratitude.
——!She’s such an old-fashioned
girl.” “Indeed ?’ “Yes; she has a
Roman nose and a most pronounced
Greek forehead.”
Keeping Roads Good.
The Road Improvement Association
of London, England, recently issued a
circular containing seventeen rules for
the guidance of roadmasters in keeping
macadam and telford roads in proper re-
pair. The rules are as tollows.
(1) Never allow a hollow, a rut, or a
puddle to remain on a road, but fill it
up at once with ehips from the stone
heap.
(2) Always use chips for patching and
for all repairs during the summer sea- .
son.
(8) Never put fresh stones on the
road, if, by cross picking and a thorough
use of the rake, the surface can be made
smooth and kept at the proper strength
and section.
(4) Remember that the rake is the
most useful tool in your collection, and
it should be kept close at hand the
whole year round.
(5) Do not spread large patches of
stone over the whole width of the road
but coat the middle or horse- track first,
and when this has worn in coat each of
the sides in turn.
19 In moderately dry weather and on
rd roads always pick up the old sur-
face into ridges six inches apart, and re-
move all large and projecting stones be-
fore applying a new coating.
(7) Never spread stones more than
one stone deep, but add a second layer
when the first has worn in, if one coat
be not enough.
(8) Never shoot stones on the road
and crack them where they lie, or a
smooth surface will be out of the ques-
tion.
(9) Never put a stone upon the road
for repairing purposes that will not free-
ly pass in every direction through a
two-inch ring, and remember that
smaller stones should be used for patch-
ing and for all slight repairs.
(10) Recollect that hard stones should
be broken to finer guage than soft, but
that the two-inch gauge is the largest
that should be used under any circum-
stances where no steam roller is employ-
ed. :
(11) Never be without your ring
gauge. remember Macadam’s advice
that any stone you cannot easily put in
your mouth should be” broken smaller.
(12) Use chips if possible, for binding
newly laid stones together, and remem-
ber that road sweepings, horse-drop-
ings, sods or grass and other rubbish,
when used for this purpose, will ruin the
best road ever constructed.
(13) Remember that water-worn ‘or
rounded stones should never be used up-
on steep gradients, or they will fail to
bind together.
(14) Never allow dust or mud to lie
on the surface of the roads, foreither of
these wiil double the cost of main-
tenance.
(15) Recollect that dust becomes mud
at the first shower, and that mud forms
a wet blanket which will keep a road in
a filthy condition for weeks at a time,
instead of allowing it to dry in a few
hours.
(16) Remember that the middle of
the road should always be a little high
er than the sides, so that the’ rain may
run into the side gutters at once.
(17) Never allow the water-tables,
gutters and ditches to clog up, but keep
them clear the whole year through.
Every roadmaster and supervisor
should cut these rules out and paste
them in his every-day hat. To make a
good road is one thing and to keep it in
good repair is quite another thing.
The fine roads in Europe are the re-
sult of a splendid repair system where
every defect is promptly corrected, be-
fore it has time to cause serious damage
to the highway. — XL. A. W. Bulletin.
A Bloody Battle in Cuba.
General Antonio Maceo Reported Seriously
Wounded— Fell in Front of His Troops in a
Desperate Fight in Santiago de Cuba.
The most bloody battle of the present
war was fought recently in the country
between Soa Ariba and San Fernando,
in the Holguin district of Santiago de
Cuba. The insurgents were command-
ed by General Antonio Maceo, while
the Spanish troops were commanded by
General Exchague. The insurgents,
numbering 3000 infantry and 300 caval-
ry, laid in wait for General Exchague,
who put in an appearance at the head
of 1300 infantry and 300 cavalry. The
Spanish troops also possessed one field
cannon. :
The insurgents made a desperate re-
sistance which lasted seven hours.
The charges of the insurgent cavalry
upon the Spanish squares were not as
effective as in other smaller conflicts
previously reported. The Spanish cav-
alry held these attacking parties at bay
and it seemed as though the Spanish ar-
tillery was more deadly to the insur-
gents than formerly. Finally, General
Antonio Maceo, seeing his men in a
critical situation, rushed to the front
with his staff. “He had scarcely taken a
position in front of the line when he fell,
seriously” wounded. His followers at
once placed him on stretchers and suc-
ceeded in carrying him off the field.
As soon as it was known that Anto-
nio Maceo had been wounded in the
conflict all was confusion in the ranks
of the insurgents, who according to of-
ficial advices received here wera put to
flight, leaving upon the field twenty
killed and several wounded. Spanish
officials estimate that before Maceo fell
seriously injured fully 180 dead and
wounded insurgents were carried from
the field. These officials assert that
many of the insurgents surrendered, dis-
couraged by the defeat and the wound-
ing of Maceo, and they expect that
others will also give themse!ves up.
Colonel Dugange also fought the
band of Bermudes at Vereda Dulcuero,
Province of Santa Clara. Three of the
insurgents and four of the troops are re-
ported to have been killed. Colonel
Tovar was wounded. He also fired on
the insurgents at Bayanesa and Mendi-
ta. Lieutenant Zauguin Vidal was
wounded.
Something About Rattlesnakes.
The rattle of the rattlesnake consists
of three or more horny rings around the
end of its tail. There may be as many
as twenty-one of these rings, which are
formed by the failure of the snake to
shed its skin. The un-shed portion
dries and hardens and it is by the shak-
ing of these rings that the snake's tail
produces the peculiar sound of peas rat-
tling around in a paper bag.