SYMPATHY.
I might have said a word of cheer
Before I let him go :
His weary visage haunts me yet,
But how could I foreknow.
The slightest chance would be the last
To me in merey given ?
My utmost yearnings cannot send
That word from earth to heaven.
I might have looked the love I felt
My brother had sore need
Of that for which, too shy and proud,
He lacked the speech to plead.
But self is near and self is strong,
And I was blind that day ;
He sought within my careless eyes,
And went, athirst, away.
I mignt have held in closer clasp
The hand he laid in mine ;
The pulsing warmth of my rich life
Had been as dangerous wine,
Swelling a stream that even then
Was ebbing faint and slow,
Mine might have been (God knows) the art
To stay the fatal flow.
Oh, word and look and clasp withheld !
Oh, brother-heart, now stilled !
Dear life, forever out of reach,
I might have warmed and filled!
Talents m!sused and seasons lost,
O’er which IT mourn in vain,
A waste as barren to me tears
As desert sands to rain !
Ah, friend, whose eyes to-day may look
Love into living eyes ;
Whose tone and touch, perchance, may thrill !
Sad hearts with sweet surprise.
Be instant, like your Lord, in love,
And lavish as his grace,
With light and dew and manna-fall,
For night comes on apace.
— Marion Harland in the Congregationalist.
MISUNDERSTOOD DOG.
A
Satan’s master was somewhat disappoint-
ed in him. The dog did not show any
signs of that ferocity which he had been
led to expects; yet his appearance was
savage enough to make him an excellent
guardian of his master’s house and prop-
erty. And that was the irony of the situa-
tion, that the huckster’s neighbors gave
him a wide berth, and even admired, at a
distance, his threatening aspect ; while he,
poor fellow, looked wistfully at them, and
felt weary of life, he so much longed for
sympathy and affection.
Satan’s stay with his master was brief.
The huckster, in a few weeks, sold out his
business and left town ; and since the dog
had cost him nothing, and he had no affec-
tion for the animal, he left him behind,
homeless and forsaken.
Satan was now without any human ties
whatever ; and to be without such helps
to upright conduct is as dangerous for dogs
as for men ; at such times the steps down-
ward to disreputable ways are very easily
entered upon ; vice beckons most persua-
sively when virtuous influences are absent ;
and a living, hoping, loving soul, whether
in a man’s body or in a dog’s, must have
companionship and sympathy as a safe-
guard.
So it came about that Satan made friends
of various degenerate specimens of dog-
hood ; or, rather, he allowed them to make
friends of him ; and together they foraged
in alleys and backyards, and led a precari-
ous existence in the lower streets of the
town. Often he thought of his old home,
with its merry group of playmates ; and
gladly and quickly would he have sped
across the country to his shelter and its
love, bad he not recollected, with sadness
and pain, the sharp words of dismissal
which had sent him forth.
So he shut his great grief within his
breast, and tried to find some new friend
among the crowds of the street ; but al-
though each day he hoped for some passer-
by to give him a friendly word, yet each
day the hope grew moredim. Harsh words
and unkind looks were his portion ; and
as the cold weather came on food, even of
the worst kind, became scarcer and scarcer,
and poor Satan knew, for the first time in
his life, what real, gnawing hunger was
like.
One day he was searching among the re-
fuse barrels and waste heaps of a vacant
lot for some scraps of food. He was search-
ing in desperation. Suddenly he caught
sight of a few morsels of meat, as they
were thrown out into the lot from the rear
door of a restaurant ; in an instant he leap-
ed forward ; in those morsels there was a
respite from starvation for some poor four-
footed creature. Satan sprang toward the
food, seized it, and was about to carry it
away when he heard a savage growl behind
him, and turned, barely in time to avoid
the spring of another larger dog, who also
had set eyes of hungry intent on the covet-
ed meal. Then came a louder and more
threatening growl from the larger dog, as
he recovered himself and made straight at
Satan’s throat. There wus no time for re-
flection ; Satan had no desire to fight, but
here was an unjust attack. The scraps of
meat belonged to him by all laws of prior
seizure ; yet this larger dog, trusting to
his superior strength, was bent upon tak-
ing them from him. For a moment, only,
Satan reflected and hesitated ; he must
have what belonged to him, if, indeed, he
could keep it, which seemed unlikely.
The big hungry dog again sprang for-
ward, and Satan dropped his morsel and
met him with open mouth. The greater
weight of the would-be robber rolled Sa-
tan over upon his back ; but, by a lucky
snap of his strong jaws, as he rolled, he
seized the other dog firmly by the throat.
There he hung. The big dog growled, and
swept him from side to side over the
ground, raising a cloud of dust ; and then,
lifting him fairly from the earth, shook
him savagely in the air ; but, all the time,
Satan, by the instinct of self-preservation,
more than by any definite plan of battle,
held silently by his throat, and resolved
that there he would stick.
Of course the noise and the sight of the
struggle drew idle spectators, like flies, to
the scene. Some of them expressed delight,
and some horror ; but all showed profound
interest in the proceedings. Satan had his
eyes shut, and could not see them, but he
heard them, and he hoped each minute
that somebody would interfere. He dared
not let go his grip, for he knew that the
big dog had strength and weight enough to
kill him, if it were once brought to hear
fully upon him.
But the big dog was now the more fright-
ened of the two ; and his growls had be-
come subdued to a whine, and his efforts
became less and less vigorous. Presently
a big blacksmith mustered courage to seize
Satan, and a stout wagoner ventured to
clutch the other dog ; and as soon as Satan
saw that his foe was likely to be held back
he loosened his jaws and gladly retreated
from the struggle.
The big dog was in no condition of mind
or body to renew his attack, and slunk
away ; Satan, hardly less frightened, yet
pressed by hunger, at once bethought him-
self of the scraps of meat, and quickly took
possession of them, his hunger soon ban-
ishing his fright. The crowd of idlers,
some of whom had seen him before, were
unanimous in his praise ; they had not the
words to fully express their satisfaction at
the ‘‘gameness’’ of ‘‘the little un.” His
feelings of fright and his instinct of des-
perate self-preservation they interpreted as
an innate love of bloodythirsty strife ; and
they one and all agreed that such pluck
had not been seen in that town since the
remarkable day when ‘Bill Reynolds’s
terrier choked the life out of Sam Baker’s
red setter.’’ 3
This episode in Satan’s life brought him
into the ownership of a new master ; and
the new master was no other than the
| tramp who presented himself, with the dog
beside him, at the parsonage porch. It
happened in this wise :
After the conflict was over, most of the
idlers lounged back to their haunts around
the stables and saloons. But one of them
went over near Satan, ashe enjoyed his
hardly earned meal, and talked to him in
a friendlier tone than he had heard for
many a day. Itmay be that the two
glasses of whiskey which had very recently
passed down the man’s throat had some-
thing to do with this friendly expression ;
but, whatever the cause, the kind words
were very grateful to Satan. And he even
paused, half-famished as he was, to return
! the friendly advances with a brief, spas-
i modic vibration of his tail.
{When the food had been eaten, a slice of
| buttered bread from the rear pocket of his
| visitor’s greasy frock-coat completed the
| mutual confidences ; and Satan licked the
| hand that patted him, and gave several
snuffles and sighs of deep content, and felt
that perhaps the world was not so cold and
i heartless as he had supposed.
| The dog’s history, from this point on,
| was told me by various police officers.
| and it runs as follows :
This man, Satan’s next master, was
| drunken and disreputable enough to dam-
| pen the enthusiasm of even the most zeal-
ous ‘‘slum-worker.”” He was a tailor by
trade, and had given up regular work long
before, having learned (that most danger-
ous and demoralizing fact) that in this
country a man can obtain bread without
working for it. He had, withal, a certain
attractive good-nature, which, with his
ready tongue, made it especially easy for
him to cajole thrifty householders out of
the desired bread and coffee.
So the two faced the world together ;
and whatever food the tailor got by his
persuasive ways he shared with his dog ;
and the two became devoted friends. Sa-
tan was at first puzzled by the long periods
of rest and profound sleep in which his
master indulged, on occasions, at the most
unexpected times and in the most uncom-
fortable corners of public parks and alleys;
indeed, he never fully understood the rea-
son for them ; but he learned to stand
guard at such times over the prostrate
form ; and, as the police told me, woe to
the man—brass buttons or no brass but-
tons—who then tried to lay band on the
drunken tailor.
Thus weeks and months passed by. and
Satan’s life was not an unhappy one. He
grew more and more dirty and unkempt,
but the dog had what he most longed for,
affection. The one redeeming virtue in the
disreputable tailor was that he really was
fond of Satan. Other better-kept dogs
looked scornfully at him, but he only
glanced up confidingly at his master, and
trotted along with great content in his
breast. :
When the tailor was sober he was kind-
ly ; and when he was quite filled with li-
quor he was soon stupid and helpless. It
was when he had drank a little only, and
desired more, that he was inconsiderate
and cross. At such times he was inclined
to speak sharply to his faithful companion,
and often tried to urge him into quarrels
with other dogs ; but he urged in vain—
Satan had only good-will toward both man
and beast. He could not understand why
he should attack any creature who had not
attacked him. Thus the tailor was some-
what puzzled, and was considerably dis-
appointed in him ; for he had witnessed
the dog’s remarkable prowess, and felt sure
that he was a wonderful fighter.
Late in the afternoon of the day when
the two had stood in the parsonage porch,
a great thirst for liquor came over the
man ; and the one glass of whiskey which
he was able to beg from an old crony only
whetted his appetite and made him cross.
He spoke sharply to Satan, and once even
tried to kick him.
Then an evil combination of circum-
stances gathered about the two compan-
ions. The owner of a bar-room where the
thirsty tailor was lounging, hoping for a
‘‘treat,”’ had recently bought a dog ; and
he offered to bet Satan’s master that his
new dog could whip Satan in a fair fight.
The tailor declared, in the high hope of
unlimited drinks, that he could not ; and
several of the bystanders supported his
declaration, and dropped sundry remarks
in praise of Satan’s prowess. The result
was that an agreement was then and there
made to set the dogs at each other, and
have a trial of their respective merits.
When the new dog was brought out he
proved to be nearly a third larger than
Satan, and much heavier, and the scars on
his breast and shoulders showed that he
was no stranger to the dog-pit. The tailor
was just enough excited by the whiskey
already within kim, and stimulated by the
hope of the larger quantity which he hoped
to add to it. to be blind to the impending
danger.
As for Satan, as soon as he saw the other
dog, he wagged his stump of a tail in the
friendliest possible way, and would have
entered at once upon a frolic ; but a re-
straining hand held him, and the new dog
uttered a forbidding growl. After a few
more drinks the crowd adjourned to a yard
in the rear of an empty house, and disposed
themselves on barrelsand boxes and on the
fence. Then the dogs were brought near
each other, poor Satan wondering what it
all meant, and looking for an explanation.
A practiced hand now pushed the ani-
mals roughly up against each other, and
although Satan only took this to be an ac-
cident, and hoped it would not be repeat-
ed, the trained pit-dog knew it, of old, as
the signal for conflict, and broke from the
hand than held him, and flew at his antag-
onist.
Now it must not be understood that Sa-
tan was a coward, for he was not ; and
when this ferocious animal sprang at him,
great as the odds were against him, he de-
fended himself. He was not as heavy as
the pit-dog, but he was quicker ; and like
a flash he leaped aside, and, as the other
passed him, he seized him by the throat.
The pit-dog, thus impeded in his leap,
rolled head-long upon the ground, and Sa-
tan fell with him. At once from the bar-
rels and boxes and the fence went up a
All expressed great confidence in Satan’s
powers, heavy as the odds were against
him. .
The next instant Satan felt the powerful
jaws of his enemy shut into the side of his
chorus of yells at this masterly defence.
neck. His own hold prevented those jaws
from quite reaching under his throat, but
the strong, sharp teeth brought pain, and
blood flowed from both dogs.
For a few moments there was a pause.
On the part of the trained pit-dog this was
only a feint ; on Satan’s part it was in the
hope that this was the end of the matter,
and that now kind human hands would
stop the savage struggle. But the half-
drunken tailor only shouted to his dog,
urging him on ; and no help came.
Suddenly the pit-dog let go his grip, and
by his greater strength bent his head for-
ward and seized poor Satan's right paw in
his strong jaws. Instantly there was heard
a cracking sound. The bone was broken
like a pipe-stem. That was the method of
warfare to which be had been trained by
savage human instructors.
Satan felt the horrible pain shoot through
his whole body, and his own slenderer
jaws shut more desperately on his foe’s
tough throat. But what could the poor
fellow do, thus maimed and weakened !
He could only hold on, in a frantic, hope-
less way, while his drunken master loudly
cursed him, and declared that he would
yet conquer.
But not so. He was not a fighter, either
by nature or training ; all his reputation
for ferocity was not justified by his instincts
or by his past actions. And while the pit-
dog, hardy, savage, relentless, felt only
irritation at the grip upon his throat, Sa-
tan’s strength and courage were fast eb-
bing.
There was another violent struggle, con-
fused and blood-curdling, and then the pit-
dog tore himself from Satan’s weakened
grip, his blood flowing freely, but his
strength unimpaired, and his savage nature
roused to fury. One quick movement,
and he had Satan by the throat and shook
him like a rat.
A deathly silence fell on the crowd ;
those who were at all sobet saw that the
smaller dog was doomed. The drunken
tailor fairly foamed, in his obstinate wrath
at his nnhappy dog. His drunken mad-
ness swallowed up the affection which he
really had for his four-footed companion.
Poor, desperate, dying Satan looked plead-
ingly, piteously at him, but that look of
entreaty met no response. The brute in-
stincts of his master had supplanted the
human sympathies.
Then there was a sickening scene as the
maddened pit-dog shook his helpless an-
tagonist, and set his jaws more firmly in
the unresisting throat. Deeper and deep-
er he thrust his glistening teeth, now dyed
red with the blood of his victim, until fi-
nally there came a great gush of the red
stream of life, and he crouched like a tiger
over the quivering body, and the struggle
was ended.
Poor Satan, misunderstood through all
his life, would be misunderstood no longer.
Then the crowd of idle, brutal loafers,
following the instincts which always gov-
ern such natures, deserted the ‘scene, and
in a shambling, shamefaced way, strug-
gled, in twos and threes, back to the sa-
loons and stables.
The barkeeper, with great difficulty,
pulled his maddened animal away from the
unresisting body ; and the tailor, now de-
serted, and partially sobered by the dread-
ful scene. stood fixed in a stupid, frigh-
tened stare. He stood thus several min-
utes, as if expecting the inanimate form to
rise and come toward him, as of old. Then
he spoke, weakly, hesitatingly : ‘‘Satan !
Satan ! come—here !”’
But there was no response. Faithful
Satan gave no sign of recognition ; the
stumpy tail and the ragged ears, always so
expressive of the owner’s hopes and fears
and sympathies, now gave no token of life
and intelligence.
The wretched tailor started forward ;
he leaned over his faithful companion’s
body ; he gazed into the half-closed eyes,
but nosoulful, eloquent glance, as of old,
now met him. He laid his trembling
hand on the discolored body, and it grew
colder and colder under his touch.
Then, for the first time, the truth seemed
to penetrate into his drink-obscured mind.
The full extent of his loss came over his
brutish nature. He groaned aloud ; he
looked about him, but his careless, seltish
companions were gone ; he knew that he
was alone in the world ; his one faithful
friend was dead.
Then he took off his coat, and laid the
lifeless body upon it ; and, gathering the
disordered bundle into his arms, he walked
—with weak, tremblingsteps, though not
now with the gait of a drunken man—
straight over tothe parsonage ; and there
on the porch I met him ; I met them both,
amid the shadows of evening, as I had met
them in the sunshine of the morning.
The poor, unhappy man seemed to trust
me, as if confident of my sympathy ; and,
as his eye met mine, the stolid, fierce ex-
pression left his face, and great tears rolled
down his cheeks ; with a groan he laid his
burden at my feet.
I was moved, deeply moved. I know
something about men and a good deal
about dogs ; and I knew that these two
had been loving, devoted friends ; more
truly sympathetic than are many a man
and wife. Never was a loving response
lacking from this faithful dumb compan-
ion. The very quality which a man values
most in the wite of his bosom, unfailing
love, always leaped outand up from this
poor creature to his master.
I laid my hand on the man’s shoulder,
and said, tenderly, ‘“‘My man, you have
lost a dear friend.. Tell me about it!
Come in and sit here!” And then, as he
hesitated, I caught his feeling, and I ad-
ded, “Certainly, bring in his poor body !
We won't leave it lying there alone.”
So the broken-hearted man came in, and
laid his burden beside a chair, and, seat-
ing himself, confided his troubles to me—
though I was the younger of the two—-as a
child might confide in its father.
When the sad story was told, with sobs
and tears, I had never a chiding word to
add ; the man’s grief was great. ; and to-
gether we gave the poor, torn body burial,
peace, and rest,under the shade of a cherry
tree, at the end of the garden.
Then I was able to talk more quietly
with the poor, broken-hearted fellow ; I
tried to turn the current of his feelings into
other channels ; but he constantly revert-
ed to his great sorrow. After a moment or
two of deep, silent reflection he suddenly
exclaimed, with touching eagerness, ‘‘Does
dogs have sowls, Yer Riverence ?”’
I assured him that they had, and the
thought seemed to give comfort : then,
after another pause, ‘‘An’ hees there dogs
in hiven, Yer Riverence ? Good dogs, av
coorse, I mane.”’
‘‘Yes, Michael, I certainly believe that
there are.”
“Bliss Gard ! bliss Gard! and the
howly mither av Gard !”” he ejaculated,
fervently. .
However, the sense of ‘‘things seen and
temporal’”’ was strong upon him ; it is
strong upon all of us, far too strong ; and
he could not divest himself of the feeling
that his faithful friend Satan, was some-
where there in the ground, soul with body.
So I understood and sympathized when
he presently asked, with a pitiful repres-
sion of eagerness that was very touching,
if I had not some job of work about the
place which he could undertake. Accord-
ingly I made some work for him, and he
did it faithfully. And afterward I set him
about some important changes in the flow-
er-beds ; and the result—well, we shall
never know the full results of any of our
actions until the Great Day—but the re-
sult at the present time is that Michael,
with never a relapse, with never a sign of
regret for ‘‘the road,’’ still potters about
the grounds and my dear old church ; and,
each year, he renews the plants and vines
upon the little mound beside the now
mouldering trunk of the cherry tree.
Sometimes Michael and I talk over the
past ; though the true-hearted, single-
minded old man never speaks with any
directness of the sad episode which brought
us together ; but from casual allusions
dropped by him I am sure that the years
have done for him, what they should do
for us all : they have cleared away many
mistakes and false fancies ; and I know,
with entire certainty, that poor, dear Sa-
tan is no longer ‘‘a misunderstood dog.’’
—Bradley Gilman in Seribner’s Magazine.
How the Greeks Were Defeated.
In the current number of the Forum
Frederick Palmer, who was so fortunate as
to witness every emportant engagement of
the main army of the Greeks during the
recent thirty-one days war with Turkey,
tries to tell how it was that they were so
easily and thoroughly defeated.
He succeeds in fully explaining their de-
feat by showing an almost incredible folly
and incompetence in both officers and men,
and the wonder only is that this state of
things was not recognized before the war
began. The facts that many of the Greek
officers had been educated in France, that
the troops were well uniformed and fairly
well armed and equipped diverted atten-
tion from the glaring faults and weaknesses
which assured the terrible national
ter. The greatest of these faults seem to
have been an utter lack of discipline, and a
fatal contempt for the enemy which soon
gave place to undue dread. From generals
to lieutenants the Greek officers seem to
have been utterly unfit to command. On
the verge of hos.ilities there was no drill-
ing of even the raw levies. “They lined
up their men in the morning and left them
to their own devices for the rest of the
day.” Colonel Smolenski is named as
almest the only exception to the prevail-
ing worthlessness of the officers, and it is |
stated, by the way, that this Greek-hero is
a pure Slav. ‘‘It was sad to see how few
of the Greek officers realized what defeat
meant. They rather seemed to enjoy hav-
ing so fine a piece of news, asa great down-
fall, tochatter about in their little cafes.’’
As for the private, ‘‘having been taught
that the Turk was a ragged fellow, who
would run at the first shot. it was in his
nature, when he saw the Turk advance so
bravely, to fly to the other extreme. The
body wounds of the Greeks were usually in
the back.” :
On the other hand this observer credits
the Turks with their traditional bravery,
but denies that they showed military skill.
Edhem Pasha ‘‘was most fortunate in his
opponents.”’ The Greek army, organized by
a French officer upon as good lines as Greek
politics would allow, was nominally under !
the direction of ten colonels, who quarrell-
ed with one another. When it was seen
that a head of some sort was necessary the
Crown Prince Constantine, to whose per-
sonal courage Mr. Palmer strongly testifies,
but whom he charges with an oriental dis-
like of rapid and decisive action, and a
tendency to be easily discouraged, was sent
to the front to prove that ‘‘in no sense did
he possess the qualities of a general.”
This critic does not hesitate to assert that
| in spite of his victories the Turkish army
plainly showed an oriental lack of energy
which would have been fatal to it against
a more worthy foe. ‘‘The blunders of the
Turks succeeded only because the blunders
of the Greeks were greater and more num-
erous,’”” and chief among these Turkish
blunders was slowness. Not until after
breakfast at ten in the morning is the Turk-
ish officer ready to say to his men ‘‘If you
love Allah, advance !”’ It is comforting to
read this well informed opinion that ‘‘a
continental army equal in number to that
of the Greeks would have sent the Turks
back up the pass after they had debouched
into the plain at Mati,”” and that, to the
Turkish officers military science, is a pro-
found mystery.
It may not be pleasant to look for les-
sons to Americans in this explanation of the
defeat of the Greeks, but they are there all
the same. We may justly flatter ourselves
upon being courageous as a people, and
amendable to discipline in spite of our love
of personal liberty, for upon these points
we were fearfully tried and not found
wanting in our great war; but the war also
developed difficulties in the selection and
support of commanders in the field similar
to those that helped to ruin Greece. Polit-
ical influences put weak men in places of
the gravest responsibility, and the same in-
fluences withheld adequate support from
able generals at critical moments. As that
tremendous = conflict progressed these
faults, in a measure, cured themselves; but
a way should be found to avoid them in
any future trouble.
Never Thought of Her.
The best joke of the honeymoon season
is told by a Southern hotel keeper. The
male half of the new partnership registered
like this : ‘‘August Buerger and wife.”’ He
remained one day, and when he stepped up
to ask the amount of his bill the clerk said
it would be $4.
“Four dollars I> Mr. Buerger said.
“Why your rates are rather high, aren’t
they 27? :
‘‘No, I guess not.
day.”
‘‘But I have been here only one day.’’
“I know, but it’s $4,”’ the clerk re-
plied.
‘‘How do you figure that?’’ the newly
wedded man asked, as he leaned over the
counter with a frown of perplexity on his
otherwise blissful features.
‘“Well. there’s yourself, one day, $2,and
there’s your wife, one day, $2; two and
two make four.”’
The fellow slammed his fist down ou the
register, while a crimson flush of blood suf-
fused his cheeks. ‘‘Well, I'll swear,’’ he
cried, ‘if I didn’t forget all about her, I'll
eat my hat ! Here take this V, keep the
change and say nothing about it, please.”
But the clerk didn’t keep the change, so
he didn’t think there was any reason why
he shouldn’t tell the story.
That’s only $2 a
Dr. Talbot Elected Bishop.
The convention of the Protestant Episco-
pal diocese of Central Pennsylvania, in
session at Bethlem for the purpose of elect-
ing a bishop to’ flll the place made vacant
by the death of the late Nelson Somerville
Rulison, D. D., elected the Rt. Rev. Ethel-
bert Talbot, D. D., LL. D., four ballots
being necessary to a choice. Dr. Talbot is
at present missionary bishop of Wyoming
and Idaho. :
Mrs. Nack’s
Confession.
Mrs. Augusta Nack, who had been ac-
cused, together with Martin Thorn, of the
murder of William Guldensuppe, turned
state’s evidence, testified that her male
accomplice took a leading part in procuring
Guldensuppe’s death, and also admitted
that she was connected with the horrible
crime. The action which she took will
probably result in saving her life. It will
also have the effect of sending Thorn to the
electric chair. In the history of criminal
women, in the records of fallen man,
it would be difficult to find one who pos-
sessed more thoroughly the characteristics
of a fiend than Mrs. Nack. We do not see
how any person, masculine or feminine,
could be more wicked than she has shown
herself to be. She is both an adulteress
and a murderess. Her own husband she
deserted to live with Guldensuppe. She
tired of the latter and then took up with
disas- |
| disabuse them of that notion.
i can be sold with in the State and no game
Thorn and, we have reason to believe, in-
stigated the latter to kill her former para-
i mour. Now, tosave her own life, she be-
| trays her accomplice in murder and gives
i convineting evidence against him, thereby
practically ensuring his death, while, if
| she had not turned informer, his conviction
| might not have heen secured.
There is no doubt that both Thorn and
his counsel had some reason for the confi-
dence with which they announced that a
verdict of acquittal would be rendered.
! Such an outcome previous to the confession
of Mrs. Nack would not have been un-
warranted. Of course, justice loses noth-
ing by the developments that have taken
place in this case. Thorn richly deserves
the death penalty that will be meted out
to him, and the sending of Mrs. Naek to
the penetentiary for life will be about as
much of a punishment as can be awarded
to her, after revealing the full details of
the horrible crime.
Cost of Solomon’s Temple.
A noted statistician and investigator who
has lots of time for such work has heen
doing some figuring on the cost of the Tem-
ple of Solomon, and says few people, even
in these days of palmy extravagance and
millionaire display have an adequate im-
| pression of the enormous cost of the great
| temple. According to Villalpandus. the
‘talents’ of gold, silver and brass were
| equal to the enormous sum of 6,879.822,000
| pounds sterling. The worth of the jewels
| is placed at a figure equally as high. The
vessels of gold, according to Josephus,
{ were valued at 140,000 talents, which, re-
{ duced to English money, was equal to
1 575,296,203 pounds. The vessels of silver,
according to the same authority, were still
more valuable, being set down as worth
646,344,000 pounds. Priests’ vestments
and the robes of singers, 2,010,000 and the
trumpets, 200,000 pounds. To this add the
expense of the building material, labor,
etc., and some wonderful figures result.
Ten thousand men hewing cedars, 60,000
bearers of burdens, 80,000 hewers of stone,
3300 overseers, all of whom were employed
for seven years, and upon whom, besides
their wages, Solomon bestowed 6,733,970
pounds. If their daily food was worth 50
cents each, the sum total for all was 63,-
877,088 pounds during the time of build-
ing. The materials in the rough are esti-
mated as having been worth 2,545,337,000
pounds. This gives a total, just for this
much of the expense, which by no means
expresses the whole cost, of 10,719,860,261
pounds, orabout $52,117,034,867.46.
Fluctuations of Wheat.
Its Value Has Gone Up and Down for Two Hun-
dred Year.
A London statistician has been looking
up the records and has made a diagram
showing the annual variation in the price
of wheat since 1641. The most remarkable
fact disclosed by his investigations is that
the prices rises and falls with great regu-
larity every four years and he explains
that the phenomenon is due to the fact
that when the market has been good farm-
ers have planted an increased quantity,
thus making a larger supply and forcing
prices down again. The average price in
1895 was 23 shillings 1 pence a quarter or
70 cents a bushel, and in 1896 26 shillings
2 pence or 88 cents a bushel. The highest
price ever known for wheat occurred in
1812, when it sold for 126 shillings 6 pence
a quarter, or about $3.85 a bushel The
lowest price was in 1743, when it fell to 22
shillings 1 pence, or 60 cents a bushel, al-
though it should be remembered that the
value of money was very much greater in
those days than now. Wars in any part of
the earth have invariably increased the
price of wheat. The most rapid advance
ever noted was in 1799, when the career of
Napoleon was at its height. Wheat went
from $2 to $3.50 a bushel in a few months.
Stories of the Day.
Thankful Tha: the Warm Place Was at Last Full.
James G. Blaine is said to have related
the following story to a coterie of friends
while crossing from America to Europe :
‘A few years ago I attended a perform-
ance of ‘Faust’ at a Dublin theater. In
the third act, ‘Faust,’ the lost, is dragged
down into the infernal regions in a glare
of fire. On this occasion the actor imper-
sonating ‘Faust was an abnormally large
man, and the trap door of the stage an un-
usually small one. At the proper time the
door separated and a volume of blue and
red smoke burst forth. ‘Faust’ was seen
dragged by a hidden power, struggling
through the opening. His legs went
first, and he proceeded as far as his waist.
Here he stuck. Those underneath tried to
pull him through, while he endeavored to
get out. He could move neither way, his
portly body completely filling the aperture.
There was an embarrassing pause. The
audience was as silent as the tomb. Then
an old Irishman back in the gallery arose
and, with his eyes fixed on the scene, rais-
ed his hand and fervently exclaimed : ‘I
thank God, hell’s full.”
Must Eat All Youn Shoot.
Hunters will do well to bear in mind
that they are not ‘‘pot hunters,’’ and that
they cannot dispose of any surplus that
they have. Therefore when you shoot all
that your family and friends can consume
—quit. The season is now open for all
game. As many persons labor under the
mistaken impression that they can sell the
game to the consumers, it will be well to
No game
taken out of the State under any pretext
whatever.— Ex.
Mary and Her Goat.
Mary has a Billy goat, its tail is sort of
bent, and everywhere that Mary goes the
lamb is sure to went. He followed her to
school one day, which made her hot as fire,
for Mary had ridden on her wheel and
Billy ate the tire.
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
|
Helen Gould, who is worth $25,000,000
in her own right, has entered the law school
of the Columbia University with the inten-
tion of qualifying herself for the active
practice of law.
Any woman who studies effects will soon
see that the color which itensifies the color
of her eyes is the one which is most becom -
ing every time. Pale biueand pink should
be carefully avoided by women with red
hair , as they exaggerate 1ather than soften
the natural coloring ; but they will never
make any mistake with any of the dark
shades of brown, especially the red brown.
Brown is also the color for a brown-eyed
woman, as it will bring out the beauty of
her eyes as no other color can if she but
chooses the right shade. Gray is becoming
to women with gray hair, and to young
women who have gray eyes and lovely
complexions, while white is becoming to al-
most every one, providing she selects the
right tint. The blonde can wear the pure
white without a tinge of yellow or pink in
it, but the brunette must be careful to
wear the soft cream shades, and if she
wears black at all, it must be very glos-
sy, while the pronounced blonde can safe-
ly deck herself in the dull black which
is used for mourning. Green is the
color which is pretty sure to be suitable to
every complexion, providing one is fortun-
ate enough to discover the particular
shade which harmonizes best with her col-
oring.
The effect of all the new skirts is to flare
considerably from the knees and sides ; at
the same time they fit the hips and front
of the figure smoothly. These skirts to be
thoroughly stylish, should set out well in
the back, the back being accentuated by
{ using reeds or haircloth in the petticoat
worn beneath, but under no circumstances
in the skirt itself, the use of any stiffening
or other mode of extension invariably
spoiling the graceful set, as it tends to
break the line from belt to hem in the
back.
Gray is certainly the favorite color and
appears in all shades from the faintest
pearly tinge to the darker slate. The tint
looks well with almost everything. It is
seen much with purple and yellow and is
often adorned with heavy cream lace about
the neck and shoulders. A popular trim-
ming for these gowns consists of bands of the
dress goods or of veivet of the same color,
stitched on in a purely tailor fashion.
This is very simple, but effective, and im-
parts an air of quiet elegance to an other-
wise very plain dress. Tucks are fashion-
able and appear repeatedly in both heavy
and light materials.
Purples and dark reds are prevailing
colors. They seem especially to invite a
combination of beautiful velvet and fur.
Blue is not popular just now, but neverthe-
less has its own devotees, who regard it as
too old and tried a friend to be slightly
cast aside and far too durable and attractive
ever to be entirely discarded.
Skirts are scant in front, fitting smooth-
ly over the hips with a very little fullness
directly in the back. They are generally
one with the lining and descend into quite
a perceptible demitrain behind.
Bodices are made loose in a scant blouse-
like fashion and are belted into the waist
by a girdle of ribbon. If they develop
they develop below the waist line, the
skirt of the bodice being extremely tiny,
being scarcely one inch and a half in length.
Every gown, almost without exception,
boasts of gnimpe of some description over
which the dress is built. These guimpes
are either very simple, hooking to the in-
ner line of the waist, or elaborate enough
to be worn as separate blouses, everything
being determined by the size and cut of
the bodice. They are generally of heavy
yellow lace over white silk with a long
jabot-like stock, or they are made of chiffon
puffed and tucked into an intricate mass
with a soft dropping bow at the throat.
Poultices are valuable aids. not so much
on .account of the material of which
they are made, but because they retain the
heat for a long time. There is a right and
wrong way of making a poultice. Heat
and moisture are the two requisites. What-
ever be used, whether flaxseed, oatmeal, or
what, it should be cooked well with water,
and if it be soft some thickening substance
may be added. It should be spread on a
piece of linen and not too thin. It may
be from half an inch to an inch thick.
Cheesecloth, muslin or other substances
hold a poultice better than linen, but the
latter is smoother and more agreeable to the
skin. The material should be laid out
and the poultice spread over init in a thick
layer, and then another layer on the linen,
or whatever is used should cover the poul-
tice and the edges be folded over so that
none of the flaxseed comes in contact with
the skin. Two poultices should be made,
so that one should be hot while the other
is in use, or when a poultice begins to cool
off it should be changed. As poultices have
a certain amount of weight they should
never be laid on the chest or abdomen of a
child, as they impede the breathing and do
more harm than good.
Sashes will be worn extensively this win-
ter but it must not be imagined that: they
are anything like the sash from the past, far
from it. They are an altogether glorified
reproduction. Their ends are trimmed
with tiny ruching of chiffon, bands of pas-
sementrie, frills of lace and netted fringe,
and they are either drawn through a buckle
in the back or on the left side, or knotted
in a fanciful manner. One end should
touch or just escape the hem of the garm ent
the other hang a trifle above it.
Close fitting jackets with short basques
elaborately braided and bordered with nar-
row band of Astrakhan, are now the height
of the fashion—that is the first fashion ;
| in the second grade come the Russian coats
{ made in plain cloth, braided cloth or velvet
with more or less elaborate trimmings.
Red jackets, Russian and all other kinds,
seem to have taken the public mind might-
ily, and our old friend the cape remains
with us, made fuller than ever, with high
collars in all colors, rows of stitching at the
edge. The mess jacket has superseded the
Eton jacket especially the Astrakhan and
Persian lamb.
All the corsets this year are short, short
in the bust and short on the hips. The
‘French waist’”” now aims to be natur-
al and in consequence the fashionable fig-
{ ure has wide and abrupt hips flat stomach
| and low bust. This is as it should be, and
! for once we can thank fortune for a sensi-
| ble turn.
| To be sure the general effect is somewhat
| dumpy. Especially after we have so ac-
| customed ourselves to the extremely long
English figure (imagine an English wom-
an in one of the new corsets!) but what
| does a little thing like that matter.