“It Dom't Hurt Much. What, ho ! little fellow upon my knee, Telling your story of trouble to me— A finger swollen, a cut and a bruise, You wonder what mother will say to your shoes A brave, bright purpose to hold the tears *Mid all the pain and the doubt and fears: Though lips may quiver and sobs may rise, No telltale drops in those brave, bright eyes, As, tender with valor of childhoods touch, He whimpers: “It don't hurt very much.” ‘There, little lad, with the wounds of fray, Searred and stained in the light-heart play, A kiss will heal—with a kind word blent— Far better than all of the liniment. I used to come for a bandage, too, When I built castles of life like you ; I used to fall «und I used to know The stinging pain of the brui-e and blow, The terrible gulping of doubts and fears, Aad the brave, bright battle to hold the tears. What, ho! little fellow, just wait a while, Till the years of care and the years of trial Carry you ever so far away From the golden valleys of dream and play. Please God, the wounds and the bruises then, In the hard, cruel battle of men with men Will Sod you stalwart and staunch and fine To fight back sorrow with faith divine! To hold the tears with a brave, tight cluteh And echo: “It don't hurt very much!" ~The Bentztown Bard, in the Baltimore Sun. I ——————————————— FOR MERIT. An’ hoo are ye gettin’ on at the schule, ma mannie?"’ enquired Mr. Pardie of his randson who, after several invitations, 3 condescended to sit on the old man’s nee. ‘‘Fine,”” replied Maocgreegor carelessly. “‘Wis ye dux the day 3 y An answer to this question came from the hoya mother who was washing up the tea “Dax!” exolaimed Mrs. Robinson. “‘Macgreegor dux! He's never been dux excep’ at the wrang end, an’ he'll never be dux till he peys mair attention to his les- sons,’’ ‘Aw, Lizzie,” put in John from his seat at the fireside, opposite his father-in-law. “Ye're unco severe. The wean’s fine. It's no’ aye the laddie that's dux that makes the cleverest man. I'm shair I wis never dux when I wis at the schule.” “An’ wha wis tellin’ youn ye wis a clever man?’ Lizzie retorted quickly. ‘* ‘Deed, ye bad me there!’ John ad- mitted good-humoredly. ‘‘But ye maun mind it’s Macgreegor’s firss year at the schule, an’—"’ “Ay, ay,” Mr. Purdie mildly interposed. *‘It’s Macgreeror's first year at the sohule. We mann mind that.” ‘It's no’ first year at gettin’ spiled. Ye're near as bad as John, fayther I’ said Lizzie, as she polished one of her best plates, Ms. Purdie chuckled and turned once more to his grandson. ‘Bot ve wad like fine to he dux, Mac- greegor,”” he said kindly. “Och, I'm no’ heedin’,” returned the boy, pntticg one of his grandfather's pep- permints into his mouth, ‘*Macgreegor I" nis mother exclaimed in a tone of warning. **Whit's the use of hein’ dux 2’ said the boy. “Ye get naethin’ fur it buta daft- like medal—and it’s no’ real silver, an’ ye diona get keepin’ it.” “Nod, that’s truth !" murmored John. ‘‘Haud yer tongue. John I" said his wife. “The medal wis a notion of the young leddy that teached the—the infant clesses, an’ “I'm no’ in the infants,” cried Macgree- gor indigoantly. ‘I'm in the elementry.”’ “Weel, weel,” his mother returned soothingly. *‘T meant to say the elementry, but—"’ ‘“Jist that, jist that,” pat in Mr. Purdie. ‘An’ I'm thinkin’ the medal’s no’ a bad notion either. Noo, Mavgreegor,”” he con- tinued impressively, ‘wad ye no’ like to get the medal to please yer Maw? Eh 2" Macgreegor looked at his boots and nod- ded his head, rather sheepishly, “That's rickit, ma mannie ! An’ to please yer Paw? Eh 2" ot m,"" admitted Maogreegor under his wrens pe ‘An’ me 2?” ‘Ay,’ said the boy more holdly. Mr. Purdie looked from one parent to the other with a smile of something like triumph. Lizzie nodded soberly; John grinned broadly. “Noo, ma mannie,” Mr. Purdie resum- ed, “bring hame the medal, an’—an’ I'll give ye saxpence !” ‘Oh, fayther !”’ said Mrs. Robinson pro- Os weir tha M ‘D’ye hear that, Maogr rr!” cried her hosbacd gleefully. Theres yer chance !" ‘‘Macgreegor | Whit dae ye say to yer Grandpaw fur his kindness 27 Mrs. Robin- son enquired, a trifle sharply. “Thenk ye, Grandpaw,” said Macgree- gor. He was looking unusually thought. fal. “If I get the saxpence, wall I need to pit it in the bank 2’ he asked presently. ‘* "Deed, ay!” promptly rephed his mother. “Then I'm no’ heedin’ about it,” he re- tarned shortly. ‘‘Na, na,” said Mr. Purdie, winkiog at his daughter, ‘‘ye’ll get daein® onything ye like wi’ the saxpence.”’ Lizzie compressed her lips and shook out her towel with uunecessary violence. John was discreet for once, and hid his satisfac- tion behind his evening paper. Mr. Pardie stroked the back of the boy’s bead. ‘‘Weel, ma mannie, ye'll ha’e a try at the medal onywey. Eh 9" ‘But ye'll not be here efter the morn’s nicht, Grandpaw,”’ said M The winuer of the medal for the next day was Johony Knox, who was quite acous- tomed to the henor : it was his three days, at least, out of every five. But it was not Jue a rita he enjoyed Sot buger wt addressed Macgreegor, w! once’ championed his cause in a fight with a bully. ‘Here, Johnny, I want to speak to ye,” 2aid Macgreegor, when school was over, Jobnny's small pale face beamed. “It’s a secret,’’ added Macgreegor, draw- ing bim away from the stream of young- sters The beam increased! in brightness. “I'l not tell onybody,” said Johnny, and took it in the best possible pars when his companion retorted — ‘Ye better no’ I” Macgreegor took Johnny's arm and con- dooted him into a convenient close. Then in a whisper, he pat the question : “Wall ye len’ us the medal till the morn’s meinin’ 2" ‘Jen’ ye that medal I" the as- tonished Johuny. “Whit d’ye want the medal fur *’ “Fan,’’ was the brief reply. “I'll give ye it back the morn’s mornin,” Jobuny.” | Johnny looked exceeding dubious. “Coma on !” said his friend persnasive- ly. ‘‘Len’ us the medal, Johnny.” Johuny shook his head. “I—I'll give ye a ha'p'ny, if ye len’ us the medal,” said Macgreegor after some consideration. “But whit are ye wantin’ it far ?"’ “I'll give ye a penny !" Jobnny stared. be suddenly enquired. ““Ye’ll get it the morn’s mornin’.” “Fine ham !" said Johnny in a tone that | made Macgreegor clench his fist. *‘As shair's death !"’ he raid, restraining bimeelf from grabbing the battered disk pinned to the other boy’s coat. But Johuny was not satisfied. ‘Ye micht loss the medal,” he said slow- ly, “an’ Shen—h Wie Soret eegor drew his forefinger across his ree as he said solemnly : *‘‘Ye'll get the medal, an’ the penny farbye, the morn’s mornin’ ”’ He repeated the mystic sign, and John- ny wavered. His fingers went to the medal ay) lambled ab the ang “I'l take it ar ye,” said Macgreegor kindly, and a moment later the medal was in his hand. Jobnny looked fearful, but his power of speech seemed to be paralyzed. He fol- lowed M or from the close, walked with him as far as their ways lay together, and left him at a stiees corner, only halt- reassured by many solemn promises and a repetition of the mystic sign. — As for Macgreegor, he set off for home at a quick trot, which, however, was not sas- tained all the way. Indeed, he climbed the stair to hisabode at a slower rate than usual, and knocked so gently for admit tance that his mother was surprised to find him at the door. She had Jeannie, then a mere baby, in her arme and was just going out to make some purchase for the tea, so Macgreegor was somewhat relieved to be left alone with his grandfather. “Weel, ma mannie, an’ hoo did ye get on the day ?"’ cried the hearty old gentle- man. Very bashfally the boy opened his jack- et, disclosing the medal on his vest, the raised letters of the words “For Merit" ghsteniog in a ray of the afternoon sun- shine, Macgreegor had never seen his grand- father so pleased. Indeed, the old man's enthusiasm and exictement soon dissipated the depression which bad been enveloping the youngster’s being, and for the moment Macgreegor felt almost virtnoos at making his grandfather so happy. “Ye see whit ye can dae when ye try, ma mavnie !" said Mr. Purdie, gaily, as the boy pocketed the sixpence. ‘* ‘Deed, yer Paw an’ Maw ’ll be prood, prood the niche !" Macgreegor hung his head and stopped fingering the sixpence. “I'm gaun ootbye fur a wee while,” he said abraptly. Mr. Purdie looked a little disappointed. but said cheerfully enough; ‘Just that ! Ye'll be wantin’ to play efter yer day's wark. Bat ye'll be wantin’ me to hear ye yer leksons later on, Eh ¥» “It's Friday, so I dinna need to learn ony lessons the nights,’ Macgreegor explain- ed, and departed. In the street "he met his chum Willie Thomson. He had intended to ask Willie to join him in melting the sixpence, but somehow he didn’t. He felt the medal under his jacket, and wished he had re- moved it before coming ont. He was glad to get rid of Willie, and when the laster bad gone, he huang about in the shade of a neighboring close until it was time to go home for his tea. Mr. Purdie, unable to contain himself, had broken the great news to Lizzie and Jobn in tarn, and Maogreegor was receiv- ed, literally, with open arms. John, of course, was much more demonstrative than his wife; still, it could hardly be said thas she took the matter coolly. “Ye'te toget a fried egg to yer tea, dearie,”’ she informed her son, after sug- porting that be shoald wash his face and nds. “Thenk ye, Maw,”’ mumbled the hoy from the midst of the towel. To eat an egg cheek by jowl with his grandfather was usually a treat indeed —it gave r such a manly feeling !—but on this occa- sion the promise failed to arouse rapture. ‘‘He’s rale modest.”” whispered Mr. Par- die a little later, when the boy was stand- ing gazing out of the window. CL received numerous pats on the head and compliments from his grand. father and father, but he accepted them stolidly. It was the fried ege that finished him. ‘Is yer egg uo’ nice, dearie?’ asked Lizzie at last, after several anxious glances at his plate. Mr. Pordie and John had finished their and Maogreegor was not usoally behind them. ‘‘Whaur's the penn; #'* | “It’s a peety ye didna pit yer sax in the bank,’ she said, sadly. “I'll awa’ an’ ges the ile.” Macgreegor said nothing, either then or when he took the dose a few minutes later, His mother epread a hi shawl over him and lefc him. It was the costomary treat- meus in the circumstances. About au hour later John who, along with Mr. Pardie, had been sitting in al- most silent misery, received permission from Lizzie to visit the patient, “Weel, ma wee man,” he said softly as he bent over the bed, “‘are yeleelin’ ony easier ?"’ Silence; then a sob. “*Ha'e ye a pain, Macgreegor 9" A murmur, which might have been one of as«ent, “*Whanr's the pain, ma laddie 2 No avswer. “‘Is’t there?" “Naw; it—it's farder np,” Maegreegor | managed to say. “There 2?" “Fuarder up.” Macgreegor put his hand to his throat. John was alarmed, and went at once to | inform Lizzie. She looked anxious. | “I'll gang ben an’ see him, John. Stay you wi’ fayther.”’ “D'se no’ think we sud go an’ get the doctor, wife 2" “I'll see, John. Dinna vex versel’, It's maybe no’ that serious.” | She went to her son. i “Is yer throat bad, dearie ?'’ she asked | him, sitting down beside him. “Is no’ bad, but—hat it’s hurtin’ me." “It maun be bad, if it’s hartin’ ye dearie, i Is ver feet warm 2’ She began to unlace his hoots, Ay." “I+ yer heid =air 2" “N—naw."” She'drew off his boots. *‘Yer fleet's cosy enongh,’’ she said, feeling them. “Wait till I lichs the gas.” But Maegreegor caught her hand. **Din- va lichs the gas, Maw,’’ he cried chokingly. ‘Bat I want to see your tongue an’ yer throat, dearie.”” He held ber tighter and shivered. ‘Ma wee man," she cried, softly. in her fear, ‘‘whit is’t ? Is yer throat unco sair ?"’ He tried to speak. ‘It’s jist—'"' “Tell me, dearie.” ‘It’s jist eair wi’—wi’ sorriness,”’ he whispered, dropping her hand and burying his face in his arms. Came then the miserable confession, or rather the broken answers to the mother’s painful questions. “I never thochs a laddie 0’ mines wud play sic a dirty trick,” said Lizzie sadly, looking down on the culprit. *‘I wad faur rather see ye at the fit o’ the oless—'’ “I wis at the fit the day, Maw.’, Lizzie ignored the appeal. “Whit gar'd ye dae it 2’ she suddenly demanded. **Wis it the saxpence ?"’ Ay.” “But ye didpa spend ony o' the sax- pence when ye had the chance. Hoo wis that * Wis ye feart 2? “Naw,” Lizzie's face softened a thought. ‘‘Wis ye sorry 2 ‘Ay, Maw.” There was a short silence. Then Lizzie said quietly : “I'm no’ gann to say ony mair about it, Macgreegor. I'm glad ye wis sorry in time, but being sorry disna mak’ up far daeni’ wrang. Mind that ! See hoo sorry ye've made ns all | Noo I'll have to tell yer Paw and yer Granpaw, and give him back his saxpence.”’ Macgreegor groaned with shame. “Ay; I maun tell them, dearie’’—the tender word escaped her ere she knew-.*'[ maun tell them, fur ye deceived them, and —and ye wadna like to keep on deceiving them—wad ye ?'’ She stooped for his an- swer. “I kent ye wudna, Macgreegor."’ She moved to the door, but a sound from the bed recalled her. She bens over the hoy for a moment. ‘Noo ye best From the door she said : take aff yer claes, an’ gang to bed proper.” She closed the door. It was a heavy blow to John He said nothing at all. Old Mr. Purdie was greatly distressed. He blamed himself bitterly. *I bad nae business to bribe the pair laddie. If it badua been fur me be wud uever ba'e thochs o’ daein’ the thing. An’ him learnin’ the wrang lesson, puir lamb ! An’ noo he’s lyin’ in there wi’ a sair con- science, efter no’ being’ able to tak’ his nice egg, and efter gettin’ nesty medicine—- 'deed ! Lizzie, I'm ashamed of masel’ ! 1 am that! For Macgreegor’s not a bad wean —'’ “I never said be wis !"’ said Lizzie sharp- ly. “When he does wrang, he's sorry. There’s mony a laddie wud ha'e spent the saxpence an' never thocht shame.” It was a very grateful glance that Joho gave his wife, She affected not to see it, but a few min. utes later she said carelessly : ‘John, oe Hiss gang an’ see if Mac- greegor’s aleeping.”’ Apparently it took John about an hour to find out. When he returned to the kitchen his face wore a sobered but not an unhappy expression. Neither he nor his son had exchanged a word, but the big band had said something to the small one, and the small one had replied. ‘‘He’s maybe no’ jist sleepin’ yet,” said John, as he lit his pipe for the first smoke of the evening. ‘‘Wud ye gang hen an’ see him ?'’ he asked Mr. Purdie. ‘No’ yet, John; I'll gang. in a wee while,’ replied the old man, who was etill narsing the feeling of guilt. Bat ere long be rose and toddled from the kitchen. Opening the other door, he Peeved in. Maogreegor’s back was to him. acgreegor’s garments lay on a chair on the near side of the bed. Mr. Pardie step- ped stealthily forward, stealthily slipped the sixpence into a trouser pocket, and stole quietly from the room. *‘Is be sleepin’ ?"’ asked Lizzie. “I couldna say fur certain,” returned ber father, still trembling with excite- 6. y ‘Ay, Maw," he replied huskily, and en- | men “Ah, but I'li shin hear if ye get the | deavored to eat. Lizzie went to see for herself. medal, an’ ye'll shin get yer sax 1 “Whis's wrang, Maogreegor ?"’ John en- ‘‘Are ye sleepin,’ Macgreegor ?”’ she Mr. Purdie returned, Ntvsu1 logy quired, deeply concerned. whispered from the doorway. eegor meditated for nigh a minute. gulped something which was | “Nog yet, Maw.” Then he slipped from his grandfather's | nos , and a tear rolled down his cheek. | ‘Are ye hungry 2” knee and procured his lesson book. “Pair mannie I" said Mr. Pardie gently, | «A wa] 1’ “I'll ry an’ get it the morn,” he said | and put out a kindly hand to stroke hie It is perbaps worthy of record that on the bravely, as he settled himself on a stool by 's head. following Monday obi Macgr his grandfather's side. Knife and fork fell from the youngster's brought e the medal—honorably oo Mr. Purdie’s countenance fairly shone. hands, and he hid his face. ed; but it is only honest to add that he ‘“An’ I'll hear ye yer readin’ an’ spellin’ | “Are ye feelin’ no’ weel, dearie ?”’ asked never did so again.—By. J. J. Bell, in the the nicht'’ he cried, and John and Lizzie his mother, and coming to bis chair. | Delineator. looked at each other until the latter's lips relaxed into a smile, A quieter 85d more stodions svening Macgr ever spent, and before went % bed be knew his lesson perfectly. It was however, onfortunate that, in h eagerness to do his hest, he should have learned a lesson which he was supposed to have learned a week previously. Ay,” came the muffled reply. ‘‘Ye best come an’ lie doon,”” she said after a moment. ‘‘Come to yer bed, dearie.”’ Macgreegor rose at once and followed her to the other room. He lay down on the Lizzie laid a band on his brow. It was rather hot. She did not trouble him with questions, 4 ~—Oue cold day last winter, in the town of Yonkers, a man was observed stan ling over a coal grating in the side- re qo Joutier, “Tees pes may en s oop lini ig bus when it comes to Tn up a ues town they aren’t much ao- count.’ WANTED-A LITTLE GIRL Where Lave they gone to—the little girls, With nateral manners and nataral curls, Who love their doilies and like the toys And talk of something besides the boys * Little o'd women in plenty I find, Mature in manners ard old of mind ; Little old flirts who talk of their “beau,” And vie with each other in stylish clothes. Little old belles, who, at nine and ten, : Are sick of pleasure and tired of men : ! Weary of travel, of balls, of fun, And fied po new things under the sup. | Onee, in the beantiful long ago, Some dear little children 1 used to know : Girls who were merry as lambs at play, And laughed snd rollicked the livelong day. ’ They thought not at all of the style of their clothes, They never imagined that boys were “beaus,” “Other girls’ brothers” and “mates” were they, Splendid fellows to help them play. Where have they gone to? If you see One of them anywhere, send her to me. I would give a medal of purest gold To one of these dear little girls of old, With an innocent heart and an open smile Who knows not the meaning of “flirt” or ‘style.” ~ Ella Wheeier Wileor, The Ship of the Desert. Just as there are (or were recently) counties in Kansas where nos a line of rail- 1oad is to be found, xo there are still many regions in the east where ueither railroad nor highway nor even path connects im- portant centers, and where the distances are so great that it is out of the question for man to travel on foot or even on horse. Under these conditions, especially, the camel is found of great value, for more than any other quadruped man has tamed, the camel stands preeminent for endurance. His worth, in fact, is chiefly in his physical qualities, for clever instinct he has not, nor, as a rule, has he any of the affection- ate or attachable nature which character- izes both the boise and the elephant. He bas a body, however, which shows almost no limit in holding out. To begin with, the camel, as is well known, requires but little food, and that only of the coarsest kind, and when de- prived altogether of something to eat for several days draws on its own reserve stores like the hibernating hear. A few beans, dates, carob pods, ete., is often all that our drivers take along as food for the beasts on a long stretch across the deserts, trusting to luck that the camel will pick up some coarse grass, thorns, or the like while he shambles along the route. The hump or humps on the animal fa- miliar to the visitor to the American zoo are nothing more than great Jumps of fat, and when pushed to the extremity, the camel maintains his strength by using up this surplus fat. At the rate of fifty miles a day he goes for twenty days to the fa. miliar song of the Bedouin or the Egyptian courier; a dranght of water once in three days in summer, once in six or even eight days in early spring or winter—a slender repast of paste, prepared from flour of the dourba grain mixed with a little water, will content him; buta few bandlfuls of broken wheat will induce him to gn an ad- ditional day with evident willingness, I need not tell you, either, of the camel's i staying powers when traveling away from | springs or wells. Its extra stomach re- oeives and stores great quantities of water —it has swallowed, for example, seven gallons of water at a time—and I have known a camel to travel from nine to elev- en days, in the most awful heat, without being given water once. This does not mean that the camel does not hecome hun- gry or thirsty, for he certainly does, and suffers with the rest of ns, as yon would realize if yon could be here and see the difficulty we often experience in starting the beasts off into the desert. They seem to know what is ahead of them, and kick and struggle and protest against embarking from their stalls. But once underway, they are infinitely patient, and many a traveler hae added to my tes timony as to their willingness to suffer pa- thetically to the bitter end. How much our derwands upon them in taking us across the boundless Saharas costs them may be seen by the disappearance entirely of their humps of fat before we sight the minarets that tell us the long pull is over; and what a wonderful provision nature has made in storing up for them a reserve supply of water, may be gathered from the fact that, when kilied, camels are often found to con- tain much water almost as sweet as thas in a well, I shall never forget one such experience soon after I first came out here and at- tempted, American like, against the ad- vice of wiser heads, to transport a cargo of spices across the sands. Indescribable ag- onies of thirst followed our failure to strike the oasis trail; nothing was left for us but to sacrifice one of the camels in order to get some of the drinking water still stored in bis stomach; nor were we disappointed in the maddening search. Some two gal- lons of greenish water was found which, when allowed to stand a little, settled clearly. This killing of a good camel and the neceesary reloading of the animals, re- minds me of the carrying powers of these aids to eastern commerce, and the diffical- ty we had with she other camels, due to their refusal for a while to transport more than a certain amount. The camel, partly hecanse of its trestle like back, partly be- cause of its spreading foot that prevents it sinking into the sands, is able to carry two or three times as much as a male, a load running anywhere from 500 pounds up to 1,000 to 1.500. This huge weight the cam- el, according as he is naturally built or natarally lazy, will, when ounce started, bear along steadily and patiently; but if he feels that he is loaded too heavily, be will refase in the beginning to budge, no matter how he is cudgeled. When onr camel was killed, we divided his load and added it to the hardens of the others; and two camels at once lay down to their jobs, Choice Koreanio oaths and heavy sticks were thrown at them, but with no avail; finally, the oldest of my drivers thought of a ruse. He unloaded the extra burden from one of the heasts, and the animal straightway rose; but while he was getting up, the driver threw on the bundles again, without the camel detecting the trick. The same thing was tried with success with the other camel. Amateurs, as I can testify from my own early experience, usually underrate the strength of these living trans and pethaps it is no wonder that Major Wayne diffionlty with the Tex., as I remember he Secretary of War. Some hay being needed at the camel yard one day, a man was sens to the qnartermaster’s forage-house with a camel, 2 rin up lout hates, When two bales, w ng together ponnds were loaded on the animal, donbts were express- ed by the hyatanders as to whether he could of Indian people ia id Pp! rise; and when two more bales, making a load of some 1,250 pounds, were added, indignation was expressed, and a local con- stable was about to interfere until told to get out of the way of the camel and Uncle Sam. The rose aod walked off. — The Bankazine. Ee ——— Kingston and [ts Disasters, Kingston, like every capital city Jamai- ca has ever bad, seems to have been doom- ed to disaster. Thrice it has been lashed by hurricanes; thrice it bas bezen shaken | by earthquakes, and thrice it has been | practically wiped out. The first capital, Seville D'Oro, founded by the Spaniards in 1509, was overcome by a pest of red ants; Spanish Town, the next, was allowed to fall into 1uin becanse it wss not conveniently situated for govern- ing parposes. Port Royal, the capital of the buccaneers, was swallowed in the sea arter au earthquake in 1692. Kingston is the last capital. The city was built on the Lignanea Plain immediately after the destruction of Pors Royal. It grew from a settlement to a town, then to acity witha population of 50,000, four-fifsha of whom were negroes aud ovly 2 per cent. pure whites. The earthquake which would destroy Kingston bas been the prophetic croak of old negroes as long as can be remembered. The prophecy was not altogether disbeliev- ed by persons who bad not become too fa- miliar with the city to overlook its topo- graphical sitdBtion. The earthquake of Port Royal sank moss of that city into the ocean, leaving a strip of sand above the surface about twelve miles Jong. At the tip of this sandpit was what was lefs of Port Royal, and at the other end it joined the mainland at a point called Rocklort. Pounded on one side by the breakers of the Carribbean sea, the sandpis was lapped on the inside by a shimmering lagoon, the entrance to which was only separated from the mainland by a narrow e. This passage, which can be navigated only by a skillfal pilot, admits toa great almond- shaped lagoon, in which a few years ago it was found that the whole British fleet could anchor in safety. It was within this smiling lagoon that the city of Kingston nestled in seeming safety. Kiogston, built on the inward shore, stood upon land which shelved into the water at about the rate of one foot in fitsy, and had the same ballsubmerged appear- ance that Port Roval has had siuce the great earthquake. The continued sinking of piers and the shifty gravelly nature of the soil which slid into the sea with every heavy rainfall formed a foundation for the dismal croaking of earthquake prophets. In 1782 it was burned to the ground. It was rebuilt gradueally, only to be wiped out again in 1843. This last fire was a dis- astrous one, costing the city about $15, 000,000. Hurricanes, too, came hetween times to discourage the citizens. In 1815, not only Kingston, but the whole island, suffered terribly from a storm. The greatest hurricane was perhaps in 1880. Kingston was on the edge of it, but got its share of trouble. In August, 1903, a cyclone swept the island and damaged banana plantations, houses, wharves, and steamships to the extent of $10,000. Port Antonio, the American colony, on the north side of the island, was nearly wiped out, But it arose again, a model of American swiftness and utility, and is today one of the prettiest towns in the West Indias. It is the headquarters of the fruit trade with this country. For years the Agricaltoral Department has been trying to find an American sub- stitute for the sisal bemp, from which binder twine is made. This strong cord, with which the har- vesting machines tie up the bundles of wheat, i» indispensable to the western farmer. Its manufacture has reached such proportions that ‘‘binder twine’ plays an important part in each new tariff schedule, and has absorbed the attention of politi- cians as well as of farmers, The United States has depended upon foreign countries for the raw material, and a powerful trust controls its manufteture. These facts give peculiar significance to the successful outcome of the experiments of the Department of Agriculture. The material which bas now proved its commeicial importance is the strong wire grass of the slough lands of Wisconsin, Minnesota and other Western States. The plant known to botanists as carex stricta, is very abundant, but bas always been con- sidered useless, The process of manufacture consists of washing the grass, combing to separate the fibres and spinning in a specially devised machine, which twists a fine protectiug yaro in with the fibres, thereby insuring the evenness necessary for use in harvesting machines. The waste is made into bottle covers, and a cheap and very durable floor matting is also woven from the grass. The new twine sells for one-third less than the old-fashioned article, and is said to do its work equally well. China Now Prey 10 Smallpox. To tne horrors of famine have been add- ed un outbreak of smallpox among the rel- ngees at Singkiang, China, necessitating the demolition of the mat sbeds erected to shelter the thousands who bave arrived there in search of food. Captain Kirton, who was sent ous by the relief committee to investigate the sit- uation, reports thas 300,000 destitute per- sous have been driven back toward their homes, and that terrible scenes are being enacted along the line of retreat. He esti- mates that 250,000 persons are likely to he doomed at Singkiang alone and 400,000 at Antung, where small relief works have been started. The official records are gen- erally puerile and amateurish. The distress is largely due to lack of means of communication, and the fear that the Chinese officials may appropriate any money for relief work they undertake. Dykes being dilapidated, renewed rains are certain to cause fresh floods. Every bouse in the neighborhood of An- tung visited by Captain Kirton contained dead bodies or dying persons, The relief committee, which has 150,000 taels (about $100,000) at its disposal, has instituted relief works uuder foreign su- pervision, ——Two officers were sent to arrest a Quaker; his wife met them at the door and said, “Walk in, gentlemen; my husband will see thee.” After waiting some timo they Bot impa- tient and called the woman, say og, “You raid weshould see your husband resently.”’ ‘No friend,” she replied; “I said he would see thee—be did see thee, did not like thy looks, and went out by the back | door.’’— Ladies Home Journal. ——Howell—*‘What wonld you do if a man called yon a barefaced liar 2" Powell—*‘Fool him by raising whis- | | kere.” mr——— —— i ——————————————— Origin of Nursery Rhymes, Slang phrases, in conrse of time become absorbed into the vernacular, just in the Same way that nonsense thymes and par- Sery verses become institations. Take the foliowing examples: The famous lines, “Mother, may I go out to swim? Yes, my dearest daughter; Hang your clothes on a hickory limb, And don't go near the water,” are at least thirteen hundred years old, being found in a book of jests of the sixth century complied by Hiercoles. “Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,” ete., bas come down to us from the days of King Jobu. “The Babes in the Wood" dates from the fifteenth century, being founded upon facts, an old house near Wayland ood, Norfolk, having the whole story in carvings on a mantelpiece. *‘Litile Jack Horner,” “‘Liitle Miss Muflert,” “Old Mother Hnbbaid,” ‘Mother Goose" and “*Goosey, Goosey, Gander’’ are each tracea- ble to the sixteenth century. “‘Passy Cat, Pussy Cat, Where Have You Been?'’ helongs to the reign of Queen Eliz- abeth. ‘‘Three Blind Mice’ first appeared Ina music book dated 1609. ‘A Froggie Would a-Wooing Go'’ was licensed to be sang as far back as 1650. ‘‘Boys and Girls, Come Out to Play’ and *‘Lucy Locket Lost Her Pocket” both bail from the period of Charles IT. And last of all, “‘Cinderella,” Jack the Giant Killer,” **Binebeard and “Tom Thnmb were published by their author, Charles Perrault, in the year 1697. New Theory of Sleep. Sir William Gowers has recently devel- oped a new theory of sleep. According to his explacation, the suspension of ocon- sciousness in sleep is probably dueto a ‘‘break and make’ action among the brain cells. The activity of the brain is consid- ered to be due to nerve cells, from which spring verve cords that go on dividing and sub-dividiog until they terminate in little knobs. Formerly it was believed that the nerve cells of the brain were in permanent connection by means of their terminals; but now it appears that these are only in opposition and capable of being separated. The bypothesis is that during sleep such separation takes place, and the fast that narcotic substances are capable of inducing eleep is held to support this view. ——There will be a legal holiday this year on every day of the week except Sat- urday, as follows : Monday, Labor day, September 20d; Tuesday, New Year's day, January 1st; Election day, November 5th; Wednesday, Christmas, December 25th; Thursday, Decoration day, May 30th; In- dependence day, July 4th; Defenders day, September 12th; Thanksgiving, November 28th; Friday, Washington's birthday, Feb- 220d, Good Friday, March 29th. Next year there will be a legal holiday on every day of the week, a rare cocurrence. | ——BSohoolmaster : ‘Anonymous’ means | without a name, Give me a sentence show. ing you understand how to nse the word. Small Boy: Our new baby is anony- mous. —Chums. —First Motorist: Whatis the name of this big cemetery we are passing ? . Seceod Motorist: That's not a cemetery, my dear Boy, those are milestones.—Lon- don Tattler, Uncle Sam's Antisuperstition Bulletin | According to an official of the weath- er bureau in Philadelphia, a bulletin recently issued from the government office at Washington was put out solely for the purpose of combating and over- coming superstition—something which a government rarely undertakes In an official way, says the Philadelphia Ree- ord, The bulletin In question is con- cerned with an emphatic declaration that long range weather forecasts based on the position of the planets, phases of the moon or the behavior of animals, birds or plants are valueless and without reason, The bulletin is said to have been made necessary by the large number of inquiries concern- ing such forecasts received by the de- partment. “The belief of many farm- ers in the powers of the ground hog as a forecaster of the winter season is as firmly fixed as their religion,” sald the Philadelphia ofticial referred to. “Another sure sign to the farmer is the moon. These things are jokes to read- ers of city newspapers, but out in the country they are believed in as signs, no matter how many times they fail.” Rings For Engaged Men. Beyond a great light of joy In his eyes and a manner of walking as if he were treading on air or eggs, the engaged young man hitherto has borne no outward signs of the fact the girl has said “Yes.” But now comes a new freak of behavior, says the New York Press. It is ordained that he should proclaim the fact of his en- gagement by wearing a broad gold band on the third finger of his right hand. This ring must be presented by his fiancee In exchange for the soli- taire with which he adorns her hand. After marriage his circlet must be moved to the left hand. Two mem- bers of the German embassy in Wash- Ington have made the hopes of belles fall to zero because the golden circles “ell the secret. : Good and Osgoed. The subject of ancestors is often an interesting topic of conversation. A lady extremely proud of her mother’s family created a sensation and made her listeners wonder a little when she : “My father filled many re- ble positions. We all have the greatest respect for him. My father fwas a good man, but"—and a certain ‘stiffening of the shoulders and an ‘added expression of firmness in the good lady’s face added importance to her conclusion—“my mother was an Osgood!”
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers