ES
FOR A DISCOURAGED FARMER.
The summer winds is snuftin’ round the bloomin’
locus’ trees,
And the clover in the pastur’ is a big day for the
bees,
And they been a-swiggin® honey above board and
on the sly,
Till they stutter in their buzzin’ and stagger as
they fly.
They’s been a heap o rain, but the sun’s out to-
day,
And the clouds of wet spell is all cleared away,
And the wooas is all the greener and the grass is
greener still ;
It may rain again to-morry, but I don’t think it
will.
Some say the crops is ruined and the corn’s
drownded out, .
And propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, without
doubt ;
But the kind Providence that has never failed us
vet
Will be on hand one’t more at the ‘leventh hour,
I bet!
Does the medder lark complain as he swims high
and dry
Through the waves of the wind and the. blue of
the sky ?
Does the guail sit up and whistle in a disappointed
way,
Or hang his head in silence and sorrow all the
day ?
Is the chipmunks health a failure 2, Does he walk
or does he run ? i
Don’t the buzzards ooze around.up there, just like
they've allus done ?
I= there anything the matter with the rooster’s
lungs or voice?
Ort a mortal be complainin’ when dumb animals
rejoice ?
Then let us, one and all, be contented with our
lot;
July is here now and the sun is shining hot
Oh, let us fill onr hearts with the glory of the
day,
And banish every doubt and care and sorrow far
away !
Whatever be our station, with Providence for
guide,
Such fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied ;
For the world is full of roses and the roses full of
dew,
And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips for
me and you.
— James Whitcomb Riley.
ee
A RECONCILIATION.
BY MARY CLARKE HUNTINGDON.
The grass in the front yard has been new-
ly mown, lending an added trimness to the
Tulips in the borders on
either side the long gravel walk made
riotous patches of color under the morning
Suggestion of lilies of the valley
Above
the open front door tall lilac bushes touched
tops, and the heavy odor of their blossoms
spilled itself upon the hush that seemed to
well-kept place.
sun.
drifted from the south garden wall.
hang over everything.
In the instant during which he glanced
about the familiar surroundings this hush
smote keenly upon the senses of the man
descending from the rickety stage, but he
Co an unchanged face to assist his
She was a tall,
well-built woman of 35, whose eyes and
mouth betrayed habitual dissatisfaction,
and whose vivid coloring was set off to a
she
kept step with him as they went up the
companion’in alighting.
vantage by her fashionable black.
walk.
4] feel quite tumbled to pieces from driv-
ing three miles in that demoralizing stage.
It is ridiculous that the people here in
Bloomingdon do not insist upon a better
conveyance from the station to Center. It
is positively a penance to have to come
here.”
She spoke petulantly, glancing at her
husband as though he were to blame for
the occasion that had brought them. He
did not seem to hear, and from an irritated
desire to gain his attention, she went on :
“Do tell me, Gerard, if Tamall in a muss.”’
“‘You can go at once to your room and
_ attend to your toilet,”” was his brusque re-
Then he went eagerly up thesteps to
meet an elderly woman who appeared in
ply.
the doorway.
“Aunt Ann!’ He stopped to kiss her,
still keeping her hand.
His wife held out the tips of immacu-
lately gloved fingers, and, only waiting for
affirmative answer to question as to their
room being ready, swept her soft draperies
upstairs Miss Ann Boynton led the way
into the sitting-room, and sank upon the
long haircloth-covered sofa.” Gerard took
a large chair opposite.
“I began ‘to fear you were not coming,’’
she said, tremulously.
“Only illness would have kept me from
Your telegram reached me duly,
but Marguerite thought it necessary to or-
and that delayed me.”’
There was a ring of impatience in his voice
“Is there not something I
coming.
der new black,
as he said this.
can do ? Are all preparations made ?”’
“i AN.7
“At what hour is it to be ?”’
“At three this afternoon.’
“I ordered some flowers sent on.”’
“They have come, and are arranged.
Will you see them 2’
He made an almost womanish gesture of
disseat. : k
The sweetness of lilac bloom filled the si-
Gerard re-
membered many springs ago of picking
every blessom, and cutting the bushes,
which were slender then, as whips for him-
Despite his two years’
juniority he was ever the one who rushed
first into forbidden things. He remember-
ed also the punishment that followed—as it
usually did follow his many heedless acts
of mischief—and of how, while he was still
smarting from acquaintance with the lilac
whips which he had unwittingly cut for
his own undoing, his father had sought
him again, and holding his hot wet, angry
face against a broad shoulder whispered
how sorry he was to have to punish his lit-
tle hoy—whispered also of a circus in town
the next day, and that he and Henry
Then he remembered walking
down through the orchard with small
clinging fingers clasped “in large tender
rtainty
that after all his father was the b®t father
\
lence that fell between them.
self and Henry.
might go.
ones, and tears dried by happy
in the world.
The blur passed from his eyes, and he
found himself looking ata picture hung
It had
been taken during early manhood, but Ger-
ard could trace strong resemblance to the
face last turned to him in fatherly welcome.
Beside it was the picture of a pretty young
woman with flowing curls—his mother.
was very voung,
leaving him only a dream-like recollection
of kisses and soothings, and touch of loose
Aunt Ann was the
She, seeing
1
above the sofa in an oval frame.
She had died
while he
hair against his cheek.
only mother he had known.
now where his gaze turned, took a small
leather case from the old-fashioned stand
beside her.
_ “This is the best picture your father ever
had taken. Me was 40—just your age.
The sands of his life ran a long time. He
would have been 88 in June.”
Gerard took the case. The grave eyes
seemed looking back into his own with
familiar kindliness.
“Tell me about it.
suffer much ?”’
“Had he been ill I should have written
so. My letters told you of his gradual
weakening of body and mind through many
months. He missed you and Henry great-
ly as he failed. He would sit hours at a
time by his window here and look down
the road. I think he was watching for one
or both of you to come. _And then, to-
ward the last, he sat oftenest on the back
porch, with a lingering expression in his
eyes. He seemed to be taking a farewell of
the hills he had always known and so soon
must leave. He did not speak often of you
or Henry. You know he was a reticent
man. The morning of the day he died he
asked when you were coming home, and
then he said : ‘If I could only know them
reconcilel—my two boys.” An hour or so
later I came in, and he was sitting where
you sit now, with the album on his knee.
I spoke, but he did not answer.” Tears
were falling fast over Miss Ann’s withered
cheeks. ‘‘He had died looking at the pic-
ture of you and Henry, taken together as
children.”
A blur passed again before Gerard’s eyes.
He could not see the tintype in his fingers.
“Do you think that Henry will be here—
in time ?”’
‘He has been here through it all. He
came the day his father died.”
The pronoun ‘‘his’’ touched Gerard. It
seemed to put him at an immeasurable dis-
tance from the still form which, without
asking, he knew lay in the closed parlor.
As a mischievous little boy, as a wild young
lad, he had received the larger measure of
tenderness, perhaps because followed by
the larger measure of anxiety, but in the
ten years of estrangement between the
brothers Judge Boynton had turned most
to the elder son. This had not been unno-
ticed by Gerard, though his rare visits
home kept him from feeling the difference.
New interests had crowded out the old.
Excitement of hours spent on ’change had
put the even tenor of Bloomingdon days
far in the background. Until this moment
he had not realized with what strong bonds
home associations still held him. The life
of which he had grown to think as narrow
and primitive and slow now seemed to have
held the essence of true existence. The
rich broker, noted among business men for
his keenness and sagacity, having an in-
fluence that extended widely beyond his
palatial home and that had brought him
many responsible positions, suddenly felt
himself pitifully alone. He thought of the
woman upstairs with the beautiful face and
the haughtily-poised head, but the thought
brought no sense of nearness to any human
being. Then he met his aunt’s eyes—still
wet and shining with almost maternal ten-
derness. He was not alone, after all. He
got up and went over to her, putting a
hand on her shoulder.
“I will go in and see him now.”
Shut into the darkened parlor—before
him only that coffin covered with the cost-
ly flowers which he himself had chosen,
Gerard Boynton stood still. He felt some-
thing keeping him back—something that
stood between him and the dead man, and
that would not let him look upon the quiet
face. And he knew what it was. The es-
trangement that had grown between two
brothers fronted him now like a visible
thing. It was taunting him with its pow-
er to hold him away—it was reminding
him that his was the blame.
He remembered well how it began. He
had come for a summer vacation, and found |
at the old home a girl whom Henry had
brought as his fiance—a girl delicate and
shy, with the sweetest smile in the world.
And because of the smile, because Miss
Ann petted her, and his father talked of
her, and Henry followed her with looks of
devotion, he had slipped into a way of try-
ing to please her more than anyone else
could please—succeeded so well that one
day Henry paused in the library door with
gray eyes blazing black in colorless face,
and quivering lips hurling such words as
“traitor” and ‘‘scoundrel’”’ at the brother
who stood this holding a frightened girl in
his arms and giving back defiance for in-
dignation. There were tears from Miss Ann
and reproaches from the judge; Henry
shut the bitterness of a heart made void in-
to his own room for days ; the girl with
the smile went back to her people, and
Gerard went also.
But while with Henry it had been the
love of a life time, with Gerard it was only
a phase. His passion dulled with dis-
tance ; his letters grew less frequent, and
stopped altogether after one evening at a
club reception when a pair of magnificent
black eyes looked into his own, He mar-
ried the eyes and a fortune with them.
The fortune invested had been many times
doubled, had brought him the reputation
of being a speculator who always came out
gilded, but the eyes had brought him only
a splendid creature, who threw over her fan
at some ballroom gallant such smiles as she
never bestowed upon her husband after the
novelty of married life had worn off, and
left his great house to the devices of serv-
ants for monthsyat a time while she flung
herself into thé gayety of watering place
and mountain resort, or visited some foreign
city of note. What disappointment Gerard
Boynton might have felt concerning his
marriage he accepted with conciousness of
a girl’s smile chilled unto death and a
brother’s days embittered because of his
faithlessness.
It was knowledge of being in the wrong
that made Henry's intense pained words so
rankle inhis mind. He had never forgiven
that last interview where such bald truths
compelled his ear. He had gone out from
his brother’s presence with set and swollen
face, and had never spoken to him again.
If the two chanced to meet on home visits
they avoided each other, and neither Miss
Ann nor the judge deemed it best to notice
their averted eyes. Under stress of such
emotion as these sad hours aroused, Miss
Ann, for the first time, had spoken to
Gerard of the long estrangement. She had
touched upon this subject often with
Was he ill ? Did he
stilled hand and voice of his master. He
turned to quiet the animal, as though
sound could disturb the sleeper’s eternal
calm, and saw his brother standing inside
the room with hands full of lilies of the
valley. It had been some time since they
had met. With a kind of shock Gerard
noted the slight stoop of shoulders, the
eyes spectacled from close study, the hair
beginning to turn gray. But Henry no-
ticed the other’s air of increased prosperity
rather than the few wrinkles upon the
handsome face. Shep whined again, more
insistently. Henry spoke through the
closed door. His voice partook of the
hush in the dim room, but both heard the
patter of soft dog feet turning obediently |
away. .
The elder man went around to the furth-
er side of the coffin and placed the lilies
upon the white satin pillow. To Gerard |
came vivid remembrances of some boys |
searching for these same blossoms along |
the sunny slopes of a garden wall, and
shouting over each fragrant token of spring
as only children with the season’s fresh-
ness thrilling every pulse can shout. The
feeling of old comradeship swelled up in
his heart, breaking down the last barrier
which was keeping him afar from that still
presence. He went quickly forward, and
bent over the coffin a face in which every
best emotion struggled for the mastery.
Henry did not lift his face from that fine
old countenance, touched with the im-
measurable dignity of death, yet holding |
such semblance of life that it seemed those
closed lashes must lift and the sealed lips
speak. A lock of the thin white hair had
fallen over the forehead, and Gerard put
it reverently into place. The motion stir-
red Henry to perception of a difference in
the man standing opposite. “He looked up
and their eyes met in a way that brought
their hands together.
Again Shep whinned at the door. A
woman's voice spoke sharply to him from |
the landing. Mrs. Gerard was coming
down stairs, and she disliked ° dogs.
Shep’s feet pattered slowly away to the
sitting-room where Mrs. Ann still sat with
the judge’s picture on her lap. In the
darkened parlor, amid the hush and per-
fume of rare blossoms, the brothers bowed
with clasped hands over the open coffin,
and the aged face within seemed rapturous
in its divine content.—Springfield Republi-
can.
Names of Hardware.
Derivation of Some Common Ones.—The Origin of
Knife.
So accustomed does the hardware-man,
long in the business, become to the name of
his wares, that he is not much given to
speculation upon their derivation"
If the question should arise in his mind,
it is dismissed, says ‘Hardware,’ with the
reason that it was named when made,
possibly hundreds of years ago—just as he
was named John when he was born-
This does not satisfy the younger aspi-
rants for hardware lore. ‘‘If,’’ say they,
“you were named John—why John ?”’
To satisfy this demand the following
“Whys’’ have been collected :
A knife wasa knife ir colonial times.
The pilgrim fathers had knives. Across
the waters the English had knives as far
back as Chaucer’s time, as the Sheffield
Whittle testifies.
For the name, however, we must cross
the English channel to France. In the
Thirteenth century knives were known as
‘Mensaculae’’ and ‘‘Artari”’, a little later
by the word ‘‘Kenivet’’. From which is
evidently derived ‘‘Canif”’, or knife.
In this connection it may be said that
two prong forks are mentioned for the first
time in an inventory of Charles V. in 1739.
The table upon which food was placed was
surrounded with benches or bances, whence
“Banquet.”
To know why a two-faced rim lock is
Arthur Sewall, Shipbuilder.
Sketch of the Man Selected by the Democrats fo t
the Vice-Presidency. Of an Old and Noted Family
Many Vessels Have Been Built by His Firm. How
He Scared Republicans.
Steadily for over 70 years has the Sewall
private signal, a white ‘‘S’”” on a blue
ground, fluttered from the main spar of
some of the staunchest, finest and swiftest
vessels in the American merchant marine,
carrying the stars and strips into every for-
eign port.
From the days of the first chubby little
Diana, built in 1823 to the great steel
Diriga, launched in 1894, this house has
led the country in designs for merchant
vessels. Beginning under William D.
Sewall in 1823, the house has been contin-
uous, and to-day owns the largest sailing
merchantmen afloat under our flag. :
William D. Sewall was succeeded by his
sons, under the name of E. & A. Sewall,
which firm has since become Arthur Sewall
& Co., with Hon. Arthur Sewall, Maine
member of the national Democratic com-
mittee and Democratic nominee for vice-
president of the United States, at its head
‘The Democratic Leader.
Life Sketch of Hon. William J. Bryan, the Presidential
Nominee.
Mr. Bryan was born March 19, 1860, in
Salem, Ill. He was taught under his
mother’s care until he was 10 years old,
when he went to the public school at Sa-
lem, which he attended for five years. At
the age of 15 he went to the Whipple aca-
demy in Jacksonville, Ill, which is the
preparatory department of the Illinois col-
lege located at the same place. He spent
two years in the academy and four years in
the college, taking a classical course. He
represented his college in the interstate
oratorical contest in 1880, and was class
orator and valedictorian in 1881. He then
cago, and while in attendance there was in
the office of Lyman Trumbull.
He left the law school June 13, 1833, and
went to Jacksonville to practice law, re-
maining there till October, 1887, when he
removed to Lincoln, Neb., going into part-
nership with A. R. Talbot, a classmate at
the law school. He had taken part in po-
litical campaigns since 1820, and made a
went to the Union College of Law in Chi- |
! number of speeches. He took part in the
| campaign of 1888 in Nebraska, and was
| nominated to represent the First district in
congress in 1800. He was elected by the
and his son, William D. Sewall, associated
with him.
In the 71 years that the Sewalls have
been building ships, they have owned 95
ships.
Arthur Sewall, the present head of the
firm, is about 50 years of age. He grew up |
among the scenes of the shipyard and sea-
gone Republican by 4,400, when Secretary
Morton had been defeated in I18=8, and
was thought to be certainly Republican.
shore,acquiring a familiarity with business He supported Springer for speaker in the
life which has served him well, not only | Fifty-second congress, from whose district
lin that particular branch, but in many | I Illinois he came originally. This led to
other lines of mercantile life.
hoe county in which he is not a director: “chairman, and on March 16, 1292, he made
Maine Central and other important roads, | paign literature. He was re-elected in 1892,
and now being a director in many. SPILL Pn
a bank president and one of the leading | redistricted the state, and his district in the
men of Bath. ~ | previous election had given the Republican
SEWALL SIXTY-ONE YEARS OLD | ticket about 6,000 majority.
: ! oe In the fifty-third congress Mr.
Al wos band at Bath, Me., November | helped to frame the Wilson bill, being a
25th, 1835. The estate on which he was | member of the ways and means committee,
born and where he now resides has heen in | and took an especially active part in the in-
| i of the Sewall family since come tax provisions. At the close of the
(OU.
| of the revolution. By occupation Mr. | plying to Bourke Cochran, Aug. 17, 1893
: Sewall was originally a shipbuilder, and he | at the special session, delivered a three
| is now largely interested in shipping, rail- hours’ speech against the repeal of the Sher-
ways and banking. For nine years he was | man law, this speech being more largely
| president of “the Maine Central railway, | circulated than the tariff speech had heen. |
| from which position he retired two years | He also spoke in favor of the hill to coin |
(ago. He is now president of a bank at | the seigniorage and spoke against Carlisle's
Bath, is interested in the Bath iron works | currency policy, as alsoagainst Cleveland’s
and a number of other commercial enter- | »old contract with the Rothchilds.
| prises. Although he has for years employ- | = In 1894 he became a candidate for the
| ed large numbers of men, he has never had | United States senate, and announced that
any scrious labor trouble. . _ he would not be a candidate for the lower |
Mr. Sewall was married in 1859 to Miss | house of congress. He was nominated for |
Emma D. Crooker, of Bath.
children living, hth of them sons, Harold | convention, and the Populist candidate in
M. and William C. Sewall, by name. | his district was indorsed by the Democrats
A striking fact in connection with Mr. | for the house of representatives. The ensu-
“ing state legislature being Republican,
Sewall’s nomination is that his son, Har-"
[old Sewall, is a Republican, having John M. Thurston, was sent to the senate
changed from the Democracy as a result of | and the Republican candidate in his former |
what he considered that party’s failure in | congressionol district, J. B. Strode, was
administration. Young Sewall was one of | elected by 5,500 majority. During all
the leaders of the Reed delegation at St. | three of the campaigns he challenged the |
Republican movement in Maine. | discussions were held. |
Arthur Sewall caused himself to be! After his retirement from congress he |
talked about all over the nation in 1880. | took up the practice of law in Lincoln |
Probably at no time in the history of the | again, but the silver campaign opening he
Republican party were the leaders of that | found that the calls upon him for speeches
party given such a scare as was adminis- | and campaign work were so frequent that.
tered by this same Sewall in his own state. | he was forced to give up his practice. In
Maine elects her governor in September, September, 1894, he became the editor-in- |
and it so happened that in 1889 Mr. Sewall | chief of the Omaha World-Herald, and had |
| was chairman of the Democratic state com- | control of its editorial policy on state and |
mittee. Garcelon was the Democratic | national questions. : !
candidate. The ticket was a fusion affair, | Mr. Bryan is a man of small means. He
on which the greenbackers had been taken | was married Oct. 1, 1834, to Mary Baird, of }
in, with Sewall’s consent and at his sug- | Perry, Ills.,, who attended the female |
| gestion. | academy in Jacksonville when he was in |
Garzelon was elected by a large majority. | the other school at the same place, and |
Maine going to the opposite struck terror | who graduated the same week that he did |
called a ‘‘Janus’’ faced lock, we must go
from the realism of the Twentieth century |
to the ideal symbolism of the ancient |
to the hearts of the Republican leaders, | and was also the valedictorian of her class. |
and Garfield was apparently beaten for the | She studied law and was admitted to the |
esidency. The leaders found something | bar, without any idea of practicing, but |
majority of 6,713, although the district had |
He is | in spite of the fact that the legislature. had |
Bryan |
His grandfather fought in the war debate on the income tax in congress, re- |
He has two | United States senator in the Democratic |
Louis, and is at the head of the “young | opposing candidate to a debate, and several | gers,
| FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
| Miss Mona Seldon, an ex-school teacher,
has supported herself” for seven years by
| frog raising. She owns a bog and swamp
| farm of 10 acres at Friendship, N. J., from
| whose frog returns she received $1600 the
| first year of her venture, and now she is
said to be one of the most financially pros-
| perous citizens of the little town.
Thistles are
sailor hats.
the latest adornment for
| Magnesia is the friend of the woman who
| has grease spots on her gown,
Fancy waists and shirt waists retain
| their popularity. An unfigured unlined
taffeta that can he worn like a cotton gar-
| ment is a very desirable~addition to the
| toilet, as it is available at all times. The
| newest things in shirt waists are those
| made without yokes, either front or back,
| a little fulness at the neck being laid in lit-
| tle tucks, while they are flat across the back
| what fullness there is heing taken up at
the waist. With these waists the summer
| girl wears detached collars as high and
choker-like as her brother’s It is well to
| have buttons on the side of the neck-band
| as well as at the front and back to insure
| perfect security.
| a
I Mrs. Ellis, one of the brightest of the
I'new women of Sidney, Me., was asked, the
| other day about her plans for celebrating
| her 100th birthday next January. “I un-
| his being put on the ways and means com- | derstand you are going to have a jubilee,’’
There is hardly a corporation in Sagado- | Mittee in congress, of which Springer was | was the inquiry. ‘Jubilee ?”’ she retorted.
| “Me have a jubilee ? Why, bless you, 1
He is prominent in ‘railroad circles as well | a tariff speech that was the sensation of the have a jubilee every day.” ‘And that’s the
as in politics, having been president of the | dav and was liberally distributed as cam- |
whole secret of living long and being ‘hap-
| DY.
A delightful cooling wash for the skin in
summer is a simple elder-flower lotion, in
which a little fresh cucumber juice and
tincture of benzoin has been incorporated,
| and if used daily will prevent freckles.
Profuse perspiration will often produce
blackheads, and if not removed it mingles
with the dust and dirt in the air and
blocks the pores. A celebrated skin doctor
prescribed this ointment for them : One-
half drachm of oil of cade and one ounce of
pure and prepared lard, This should be
rubbed well into the skin at night after
| washing the face thoroughly clean.
Another excellent lotion for the pores is ;
Eighteen grains of subcarbonate of soda,
| four ounces of distilled or soft water, which
has been boiled and two drachms of essence -
| of lavender. Dip a soft rag into this lotion
I and friction all round the blackheads.
Summer heat bumps are not of infre-
quent occurrence and trouble to both chil-
dren and adults. They are due to certain
chemical absorptions of the tissues the con-
sequence of increased heat of the body.
The best treatment is to dab the spots with
the following lotion : Chloride of ammonia,
one drachm ; distilled water, one ounce ;
or this cold application : Common salt,
one part ; nitrate of potash, one part, and
hydrochlorate of ammonia, one part, add-
ing sufficient water to dissolve the pow-
In hot weather the complexion is not the
| only stfferer, for one’s pedal extremities
are liable to blister and be tender, especial-
ly after surf bathing. The most simple
remedy is to powder the feet well -before
putting on stockings, which should be
wool, with a starch powder.
Perspiration under the arms, if excessive,
is also most unpleasant. If is often a sign
of constitutional weakness, and those of
my sex who suffer from it should see that
the armholes of their dresses are loose and
that dress shields are worn. Three times a
day the armpits should be bathed with cold
water in which a small lump of alum has
been dissolved. Then after thoroughly
drying, rub in a little toilet vinegar, final-
ly dusting with zinc and starch powder in
equal proportions. At night wash the arm-
pits with carbolic soap to remove the pow-
ante ; d to be done, and quickly. A confer- | sj ct ; ; ion- : a
Greeks.—There, ina temple whose doors’ y quickly. A con simply to be more thoroughly companion- | ger and impnrities. After all, a cure, or a
were never closed during war, ‘Janus’, |
the god with two faces, was enshrined. i
In the hardware store ‘Janus’ becomes !
a fitting name, indicating in the lock that
it is the same on both sides, and in the |
store the alertness necessary to success in
these days of commercial warfare.
In the sixteenth century pistoles and |
postolets were so called, it is said, because |
they were invented at ‘‘Pistola.”” But on |
this subject etymologists differ, some pre- |
ferring the suggestion that they were call-
ed pistols from the fact that the bore was
of equal diameter with the ‘‘pistola’” a coin |
of the time.
In the names anvil, stirrup and hammer |
we find a very curious thing—that the po- |
sition is reversed and that these articles |
give their names to what was made long |
before their use was known. The three |
pretty little bones of tne inner ear are call- |
ed ‘‘hammer, anvil and stirrup.
. |
To Pierce Pike’s Peak. |
“Colorado is going to have the longest
tunnel in the world,’’ said Richard Jones,
in conversation with a St Louis Globe-
Democrat reporter a few days ago.
“Within a few years the Mont Cenis, St.
Gothard and Simplon tunnels under the
Alp will not compare with those to be con-
structed.
‘A company has undertaken to do forty-
eight miles of tunneling under Pike’s Peak
and the territory near by It will begin at
Sunderland Creek, near Colorado City, and
run in a southwesterly direction to a
creek some distance beyond Independence
and Victor. It is to be built for a double
track of railway and have the regulation
dimensions of railway tunnels, fourteen
feet high. A branch line will leave the
main tunnel at a point under Independence
run to Cripple Creek, placing that mining |
centre within sixteen miles of Colorado
city. The distance between the two is by
rail at present fifty-four miles.
“The two mouths of the main tunnel are
to have the same altitude, 6800 feet, and
the grade of the tunnel will be one foot to
the 100, enough to drain it well. This
will give the divide an gltitude of about
7400 feet. The summit of Pike’s Peak is
14,000 feet above the sea leveland Cripple
Creek nearly 10,000. The plan includes
laterals, or cross tunnels at several differ-
Henry, but he always answered that he
could not be reconciled tq one who did not |
wish reconciliation. *
“Gerard knew that the attitude of the one
injured had been his.
terview there was no reproach in his broth-
er’s manner, simply a waiting forsuch con-
fession as was his due to receive. Gerard’s
stubborn pride had refused this confession
—but he was making it to himself now
with a bitter sense that wrong-doing
brought the heaviest penalty on the wrong-
doer. Surely Henry’s life could not be
mote empty of something to be desired
than was his own.
A door closed so softly that he did not
connect the sound entrance. He heard the
piteous whine of a dog in the hall outside,
and knew that Shep was mourning the
i Cove.
After that last in- |
ent points. Ole is to be at or under
Crystal Park and another under Cameron's |
The longest one will cut the main
line not far from Balb Mountain, and run |
under that peak in one direction and under |
the summit of Pike’s Peak in the other. |
Then another tunnel isto connect this |
cross run with the main line, joining the
latter near the south and the branch on the !
west side of Pike’s Peak. It will run un- |
der the mining camp of Gillet and not far |
from Grassy. !
“The amount needed for the tunnel work |
is $20,000,000. A contract now in
Colorado City requires that the work shall |
be commenced within ninety days.
——Death will change our surroundings |
but not our character. |
| reason why they should not do it this fall.
nce hetween Conkling, Grant, Logan and | jonable to him. She isa year or two young- |
Garfield was called, immediately after the | er than he. Three children have been born
Dhohon mn Mone, at the home of Garfield | to them, Ruth, 10 years old ; William J. |
at Mentor, O. | Jr., about 7, and Grace 5.
It was here the wounds of the conven- | Mr Bryan is a Presbyterian, having |
Hons nN wo oe Big Lip had Doon | joined the Cumberland Presbyterian church
worsted, were healed up by promises from | at the age of 14. Heis now a member |
4 pte. The tide was Sterna ty | of the First Presbyterian church of Lincoln. |
eld won, carrying Maine. hen he | His father was Silas L. Bryan, who was |
gained power Garfield forgot the promises a circuit judge at the time of ha son’s birth, |
made at the conference, and turned the Big | and served on that capacity from 1860 to |
Three down. Conkling resigned from the | 1872 on the bench of Illinois. Judge |
senate then. | Bryan moved on a farm a short distance
MR. SEWALL SURPRISED. “| from Salem when his son was 6 years old,
According to his own assertion, Hon. Ar- | and from that time until he was 23 years |
gon Sew ay had > iden, when he left ps old Bryan spent his summers on the farm.
Doms at ap A Js be Eo would | In 1872 his father ran for congress on the |
e presented to the late national conven- | Greely ticket and was defeated by 240
tion for the second place on the national | votes. His family comes from Virginia. |
ticket. ‘It was wholly unexpected,” | His father was born in Culpepper county in |
he said; “I had no. thought, when I| that state, and died in Salem Ill in 1880. |
came to this convention as a delegate, | His mother, whose name was Maria Eliza- |
that my name would be presented for | beth Jennings, was horn in Marion county |
a ny
. : sat ; ice- | Saturday, after a protracted illness.
presidential nominee on the national tick- In appearance or is impressive,
et of the Democratic party is decidedly | his face indicating intellectuality and
nh as it became known that Mr. Se ton - hii > a Ein id
S as it beca Mr. Se- | notable ahsence of the boyish look seen in |
oll hal buen oy age os 2 rush | the pictures and lithographs of him which
of friends and admiring Democrats to ex- | have been circulated. He is affable and |
tend their congratulations to the ‘‘next | kindly in manner, easily approachable, |
vice-president,’’ as nearly every one of | and does not lack dignity. In appear-'
them expressed it. ance he is an illustration of the fact that |
CONFIDENT OF THE EAST. some men are accorded justice by a picture,
During the afternoon he received hun- i which in his case does not prepare one for
dreds of telegrams from all parts of the
the expression of keenness shown in his |
country, expressing the congratulations of face.
friends. EE :
In conversation with a representative of | The gift of $20,000,000 to oppressed |
the Associated Press Mr. Sewall expressed | Jews from the widow of Baron” Hirsch is |
the belief that the ticket would be a | the most magnificent donation that ever
great deal stronger throughout New Eng- | went to charity in any age or land. It has |
Jand and the eastern states than the west- | heen supposed that - fe left directions that |
ern friends of free silver realize at present. | this be done, byut'the magnitude of the gift |
“As to my own state,” he continued, | staggers ads So It did not need this |
tthe cause of free silver is growing rapidly. y e baron rank among the first of |
Two years ago I could count on my fingers _ philanthropists, for he had given
the Democrats in Maine who favored the | away twice as much before, but as show- |
free and unlimited coinage of silver. Now ring that it was not his intention to let his |
the vast majority of them are of that belief, | work end with his life itis truly mem- |
and their numbers: are increasing-every | orable. There will be no yuarrel with the |
day. I anticipate a lively campaign this | exclusiveness of the gift, for while living |
autumn in Maine, and I feel assured. that | he had not been fettered by race or creed |
the results will be flattering. It is not im- | in philanthropy. He gave away during |
possible for the Democrats to carry the | his life, on works of heneficence, $22,000,- |
state. They did it in 1820, and I see no | (00. !
—————————————————
“] have great confidence in the success
of the ticket throughout the country. I
heartily believe in the principles of the
platform, and will do everything in my
power for the success and victory of Democ-
racy.”’
The vice-presidential nominee is a man
very nearly twice as old as the head of the
ticket. Heismuch older than he looks.
He is a splendid example of physical man-
hood, carries himself with a soldierly bear-
ing, and is what might be termed a fine-
looking man. His hair and mustache are
slightly tinged with gray, but the wrinkles |
of age have scarcely made their appearance
on his face.
——“Pop,’’ said Willie, ‘‘what’s a gold-
bug ”’
“That, my son, is what they call the
men who want the gold money.”
“And I suppose a silver-bug isa man
who wants silver money ?”’
“That's it exactly.”
“Well, say, pop—I m only a little feller,
and I’m satisfied with being a nickel-bug.
Gimme one, will yer”
————————————————
“Is this a sixteen-to-one town?”
asked the drummer. ‘‘It air on Sunday,”
answered the native. “On Runday ”
“Yas. Sixteen goes fishin’ to one goin’ to
- { church.”
— Happiness is not found by looking | ,
after it. |
—————————————————————
——Subseribe for the WATCHMAN.
- wn
' folded about the throat.
preventive, for ‘‘every ill ~to which the
flesh is heir’ can be summed up in that
one word cleanliness in keeping the skin
clean by washing and friction, and it will
in time be rid of all impurities. Though,
like everything else, cleanliness can be car-
ried to excess. :
There is living in this city a young
woman who had been advised by the fam-
ily physician to take ‘‘Turkish’” baths to
reduce her weight. So every morning she
would trot off to the baths. One day,
while in a confidential mood, she told me
that ‘‘after taking twenty-two baths she
had lost sixteen pounds, and her friend,
who was taking them to increase her
weight, had only taken seven in the same
time had gained eight pounds’’—thus prov-
| ing that they are beneficial when taken in
moderation.
“Do you not experience any evil effects
from your twenty-two baths?’ inquired.
“They have made my complexion lovely,
thongh I admit so many have completely
tired me out. But I will stick to them
until my weight is 150.” '
Looking a¥the fair dimpled complexion,
I saw that the heated air and massage had
drawn out every blemish hidden under the
surface and had left it soft, transparent and
beautifully tinted.
So very few women consider the appear-
ance of the back of their gowns, yes, and
hats, too ; and yet half the world see only
the back.
Now that ribbons are used so extensive-
ly and sleeves decorated so elaborately, the
plainness of the back of the bodice is some-
what relieved.
A favorite De of trimming a bodice
with ribbon %s in the form of bretelles,
with narrow cross pieees at the bust and
waist, and having big knots of ribbon on
the shoulders as a finish.
Another pretty way is to crush wide rib-
bon around the waist, with two choux at
the back and two at the front, from all
of which hang long ends to the foot of the
skirt.
The back of the stock is another consid-
eration. The front and sides are generally
apt to be prettily arranged, but the back is
usually left to the tender mercies of a big
bow, no matter whether that bow has any
claims upon beauty or not. The style of
“bow used at present is composed of several
long loops, all of an exact length, and so
| arranged that each one shall stand out
| straight and individual.
| and three-quarters yards of satin ribbon to
It requires ome
perfect one of these stocks, and the ribbon
must be sufficiently broad to allow being
When the bow is
adjusted care should be taken to fasten it
as closely to the central knot as possible, so
as to prevent it lying flat. :
A charming model for a pale blue
muslin frock. The skirt has all its
with the narrow-
The full bodice
seams set together
est of black lace insertion.
.is formed into an oval yoke by broad tucks
run tegether with the black lace, like the
skirt. ~The tops of the full bishop sleeves
are finished in the same manner, and give
a pretty finish to the gown.
asm