but for her sake he looked with glow- ear within the long drying shed at | viaze, and the remainder of the stock ing vision upon the turreted mountain | i.» rear. During their progress these | swept away. Maxon, wearled and hol- | — tops in the distance, with their purple | sparks of fire occasionally described | loweyed, offered lus services. { France is literally a large garden, A great many cannot ses why it is shadows and golden lights, How she | magmficent curves in the air, in the ac- “Not a bit of it, Maxon. Go home | Every inch of soil is cultivated. In | they do not take cold when exposed to would rejoice over them, that quiet lit- | centuation of certain rhythmical utter- | to your wife and babies. I have enga- | riding from Paris to Dijon, 150 miles, | cold winds and rain. The fact is, and tle demzen of Western prairies, who | ances in the corrupted Spamsh of the | ged a man,” | we counted only 80 cattle. We saw no | it ought to be more generally under- had lived among the monotonous levels | Mexican tongue. The lowest Mexican | Proctor did not add that the watch- | sheep or hogs. The farms have usually | stood, that nearly every cold is contrac. | of central Illinois all her life! The | peon, who, all his life goes half clothed, | man he had engaged was no other than | from one to 10 acres. Some farms have | ted indoors, and is not directly due to | thought lent cheerful energy to his | half fed, and unsheltered handles his | himself, but when the rest had gone | half an acre, and some have as many as | the cold outside, but to the heat inside, voice, as he entered the yard and gave | cigar or cigarette, with the fine pompo- | home, he remained there alone, Sepa- | <U acres, A man will go to bed at night feeling 1 or Banaary Suggestions, Franee A Large Garden, Oh for a day together In the woods so still and green, In the fairest summer weather That love has ever seen; To watch the blue sky shining ‘Where bougl s are intertwining, And sunlight falls enshrining The soft, sweet air between. Oh for the ringing laughter, The hours of dreamful eas, The songs that follow after The preludes of the breeze ; For joys we may not number, For strains that softly cumber The folded wings ot slumber, As foam lies o'er the seas, For one day, love, one only, Through ail the fleeting hours, Fire laughter leaves us lonely, Love's land and light are ours; Too soon Will cares enthrall us, Too soon the world will call us, Too soon its ills befall us As frost befalls the flowers. Leave colder hearts to hearken The smuple household lays ; W here leaves and branches darken, We'll list the song love plays. Then vain the rise and falling Of fireside voices calling, While those sweet airs are thralling This brightest. day ot days. Oh for a day together In the woods and windy dales, In the fairest summer weather Dawn fires or starlight pales. Then with that day's declining, To part like exiles pining, At sight of sunset shining Upon some home-bound sails, THE MUNDREDTH MAN. “Now, see here. my friend,” said | John Proctor, his honest eyes looking | gravely into the tramp’s face,as he bal- anced a dime on the tip of his finger, ‘I'm not going to read you a homily on | the subject of labor, but I want to pre- sent to you a little matter of statistics, You know, as well as I, that the terri- | tory is swarming with men of your | <class. No less than six, begging for for money, have stopped me on the | street to-day: while down there at the vard—indicating with his hand a row | of tall lumber piles surrounding a build- ing in the distance—‘‘we haven't bad | three applications for work in a month, “Try me.” **Do you imagine you would work if you had the chance? I have had a lit- tle experience with fellows of your sort. | You have such remarkable appetites.” He addressed him generally, as the rep- resentative of a race. ‘*'You work half | an hour, then come around with th: plea that you can’t work on an empty | stomach, draw an advance of half a dol- | lar on your wages, and that is ‘the last | we ever see of you.” ! The man retorted so sharply, that one could almost have fancied the poor remnant of spirit still abiding in him, | stirred him to something resembling : wrath. **That’s always the way,” he mut- tered. ‘Say we won’t work; they won't give us a show. I know we're a pretty low—down lot, but some of us start out ! square enough. If a man gets down there is no getting up again.” There was something almost pathetic | in his very sullénness, as he shuffled away, his rags flapping in the strong breeze, and ill mated shoes clattering | an accompaniment to his gait, “Come back here, will you?” John Proctor’s voice was stern and | decided. The tramp halted, hesitated, | looked away, then shuffled back again. *Come down to the yard this after- | noon, and I'll ive you a job. But take | this half-dollar and get filled up first,” | He had exchanged the dime for a larger coin, and held it in his out- | stretched hand, ! The man did not immediately extend | his hand to take it. In the moment or | two that elapsed, the young lumber- | man thought he detected a trace of | something allied to resentful pride, in | his bearing. But the illusion vanished | as a grimy band closed greedly upon | the silver, and the fellow disappeared | without even troubling himself to make { any formal expression of his gratitude. | John Proctor looked after him with a quizzical smile. Five minutes later he knew his own nace would be the toast of a drunken crowd of loafers in the saloon around the corner. To be sure it wouldn’t help to advance a cer- tain Quixotic reputation which had at- tached itself to him since lus first ad- i vent in {his little New Mexican town, | But he steadily adhered to his creed: ! Grant that ninety-nine out of a hund- | red of this population were thieves and mendicants, he was wont to say he pre- ferred to be victimized by the ninety | and nine, ratber than miss that hund- | redth man, Arrived at the Park, a strip of land | running through the heart of the place, the title to whieh was in dispute bee tween the railroad company, a handful | of determined squatters, and the gov. | ernment, John brought down the wire | fence this noon with one vigorous kick. Kicking down this wire fence was one of the legitimate pastimes of the inhab- itants, who could not afford to make a detour of a mile or more to reach their place of business, nor yet hazard gar- ments by scaling 1t. These encroach- ments on the part of the citizens had once been resisted with warlike demon. strations; but now, as Proctor stepped through the gap, a patient looking, round-shouldered little man advanced, trundling a wheel-barrow laden with a Luge coil of barb wire, and, politely greeting the tresspasser, set about re- peiring the fence, Parsons was in the Stupioy of the road, and scrupulously obeyed his instructions, but a gleam of bumor in his eye told that he sympa. thized with the transgressors. As John Proctor took his way down through the Park in thedirection of his office he seemed to throw off the un- pleasant reflections which had been an- noying him, with one shrug of his pow- erful shoulders, The young man’s eye's fell cheerily upon the somewhat Incon- gruous array of buildings that ted the town. He g the homely little edifices sq ig over the ground in various directions, Had not every foot of lumber been supplied from his own lumber yard? And did not this avalanche of trade mean—Annie? Nothing could be mean or poor, which brought these weary years of waiting toan end. He was a practical man, little given to enthusiasm of any sort, some directions {o Maxon, his hard- worked bookkeeper and general facto tum, making out an order for several car loads of finishing lumber, when a sha- dow darkened the door, and the tramp an exclamation of surprise. The vaga- | “Yes, I've come!” he said. “What are you going to give me to do?” | | John Proctor put on his hat, and | | i He scantling, which happened to be the *Hulloal” said Proctor, gazing at | “You seem to know something about this business,’ “A little” returned the man, shortly. The young lumberman took his way | A httle later the | **Oh, by the way Maxon, I have a | might keep an eye on him." *“*Now, Mr. Proctor!” exclaimed “Is it an- ‘“Well, you see, he declared he was willing to work, and it seems only fair | to give a man a chance,’ The broad-shouldered young proprie- tor was avowedly on the defensive. “So far as I am concerned, of course | it’s nothing to me,” observed Maxon | dejectedly. “But it puts me out to | have you made alaughing stock all over town. It’s a shame-—well, it’s no use | talking. Yes, you may depend upon | hose | fellows will bear watching! 1 say, | though, Mr. Proctor, haven't you got | mighty close up to that hundrea?” Half an hour later Maxon looked in | again, his face lit up with a mischiev- | ous smile, “Don’t you want to take a look at! is just like the rest of them; sitting on a lumber-pile,all doubled up witha pain | " A flying Spanish conversation book | other missiles, At six o'clock, when | the bands eame up to receive pay for The man made no demand for wages, As the men flled out the agent of the Plumbago City train, a personal friend g, fice with a package in his band. ‘““Here, Proctor, run them Lis receipt, $5,000 from Juarez & Signor. over, “It’s the 1 The lumberman hastily counted the notes, signed the name to the receipt in a bold, dashing hand, and the agent Left alone, Proctor drew from his pocket, a long, Russian leather pocket book and laid the notes carefully inside, As he thrust this into his breast pocket he chanced to glance toward the win. dow, and encountered the hungry eyes of the tramp, following all of his move. ments from without. As the man saw that he was detected, he paused, seem- | ed about to speak, then changed his mind, and sauntered away, carelessly, A vague anxiety assailed John Proctor, It was leng after banking hours; there was no help for It; he must be the cus- todian of his treasare until morning, | He sat up late that night. The pay. | ment of this sum was all that was nec- | essary to make the trip a definite and | tangible matter, There was a pile of | correspondence to be turned off, and a | letter to be dispatehed to that little | woman in Illinois, telling her to dis- | charge her music pupils and make ready for his coming. When he had finished his letters, he sat quietly for a while in his big-arm chair. It was a very late when he rose, and, locking doors and He drew off his | coat, and, folding it carefully, placed it beneath his pillow. Then he exam- | pistol, which hung upon a hook beside Reassured by this precaution, Several hours before, a man had ed by two others of towering height, As he stretched himself at fuil length with a bundle of shakes for a pillow, he phil- osophically reflected that such a bed | was not to be despised. He was not | ill qualified to judge, for his experience | had been wide and diversified, and he | had learned to weigh the most delicate points of variance with the fine discrime ination of a connolsseur, He had travelled half way across the contiuent without once knowing the shelter of a civilized roof. He had tented beneath the fragrant shades of orange groves, in Southern California, and m waving flelds of golden grain, some terrible July nights on the Colo- rado desert, where the mercury marks 110 degrees at midnight, parching for water, and choking with the hot dust of the arid waste, waking at daylight to find the delusive mirage mocking him in the distance, He had cink down ex- hausted on the barren plains of Arizo- na, and roused to find himself stabbed in a thousand places by the cactus need- les, cast upon him the malicious breezs; ever lured on by the sweet face of a child who had smiled farewell ag te, Lie gl P : y odors ous with the fragrance the pine woods, and the sleepy twinkle of the stars overhead, and the weariness of muscles: unaccustomed to labor, soon lulled Lit into Siuber, 4 o* o later, two Siowin sparks fire seemed to glide down the railroad track, steal around the office and dis. I | sity and careless grace of the proudest | hidalgo. John Proctor awoke that night to { find himself assailed by a foe mightier | than his feeble imagination had pictur. ed. He tried to rise but found himself unable to, oppressed by a terrible sense of suffocation from dense volumes of smoke which filled the air, and vast sheets of flame darted thsir forked tongues toward him. Suddenly the wall of flame and smoke was parted and the face of the tramp bent over him. He was roughly shaken, pulled off the bed, half dragged, balf carried through the little private office and dragged into the begun its work of devastation. Then voice and memory came back, and he stiouted: “My notes! in my coat pocket—un- pelled forward into the arms of some men, eagerly crowding through flaming doorway. He struggled to free himself from thelr grasp. He fought with them, cursed them, and finally broke down and cried like a child. Maxon’s flerce tones recalled him to himself, “Why, man, do you think we would let you go into that fiery furnace again? There goes the roof now.”’ crash, and a flying column of sparks celebrated its downfall, stared about him, and his gaze wander- ed to the sky above, where an angry, crimson glow had blotted out the stars and rested on the distant mountain chains, weirdly reflecting from their glare of the unrighteous flames, Would she admire them now? Surely it was a spectacie to enchant the eye of unprejudiced sacrificed to the effect, the scene before him, something to be done, was still cream of There The less some piles of lumber to the right of fire would communicate with the whole outside stock, stretching for several He turned to the crowd of men who soene: “Come Inmber 1” A couple of promptly forward, on and help us save the dozen of The en came lumberman were almost exclusively composed of the so-called professional men of the town, The local officials of the rail monly viewed with contemptuous eyes by the hard working portion of the pop- ulation, presented themselves to a man, The tall form of Judge Cheseman, a stiff and somewhat aristocratic legal luminary, loomed up in their midst, A quiet looking little real estate agent, leaped upon a pile of shingles and began to fling the bunches down to a chemist below. The two nival editors (for the least of New Mexican villages usually boasts its miniature newspaperdom), who had exchanged shots on Gold ave. nue the previous day, glared cordially at each other along the lengths of tim- bers they undertook to transport to a place of safety. The laboring popula- tion offered scarcely a representative, save in the person of a few contractors and mechanics, who had berman. The men worked like heroes, energy never waned until a faint light in the east began to rival the red glare the desert plains for miles around, and every piece of lumber was removed toa safe distance, Worn and wearied, John Proctor sat down to rest upon the wheel of his own copying press. A gradual change had gers, Many of the spectators of the night had gone home to rofresh them. selves with a nap, and the remainder were re-inforeed by a straggling corps turmoil and excitement. a stout fellow with a big diamond bla- zing in his shirt bosom and a mimic beerbottle suspended from his massive watch chain, was recounting his expe- rience, as all people revel in detailing casion of a fire, “You see, I was sleeping like a log when Lizzie caught hold of my shoul- der, and she says: ‘Bob Bob, wake up, Itell you. The sky is all afire, and there must be an eclipse!’ I reached up to see If my pocket book was safe.” The words brought back to John Proctor a sense of the loss he had sus. tained. At that moment Maxon stroll- ed up, flushed with exertion. He had couple of young Mexicans, whom he had detected making off with a keg of building bardware. Maxon,’ he said abruptly, “‘did that fellow who got me out last night come out safely himself?" “Now i think of it,” returned Maxon; “he went back a minute; but he got out all right—just as the roof fell in. I £ atthe moment a plece of fall timber hit him, but he scrambled off fast enough.” A dread suspicion assailed John Proo- for's honest but he repelled it sturdily. Yet all day long, as he wan. a a C10 or rom the ruins va. ous mementoes of the wreck, there vould constantly intrude upon him the nemory of two greedy, devouring eyes, peering througha window, a strange mireat into a burning building, and ¢isappearance into the shadows, When night came, it was for some one to stay and guard the ruins, for if the wind should rise, some smouldering piles of lumber might be fanned into a rated as it was from the rest of the town, by night it was a dreary solitude. A flery spark, miles away over thelevel plain, developed inte the headlight of the locomotive of the evening train, which thundered past on its way to the depot below. The moon came up and | ruins, | pacing to and from, sat down upon a | bunch of shingles and buried his face {in his hands, had wrought his ineparable ruin. rance money to settle his outstanding { liabilities, for he had done business on | the rushing western plan, and had car. i ried a stock out of all proportion to his | capital. If he could only have saved | that $5,000, or if he had not been so ambitious. Annie had been ready-— poor little girl. She had even proposed bringing her piano to this raw southern | town, and eking out their income with the result of her own labors, On one | point he was resolved. Whenever he | got square with the world again, he woitld put his pride in his pocket, and humbly presenting himself, before the for better or worse, A sharp groan tunes, { how long would it be? escaped his lips, the ground. “Who is there?” “Only me, Isthat you boss?” John Proctor bent forward and per- | ceived a man slowly crawling along in | the shadow of a pile of joists, As the | figure emerged into the moonlight, he saw that the fellow dragged one leg { helplessly after him. His suspicions melted away beneat” his patural kindness of heart, “Are you hurt?” “Only a falling timber, boss, but the fire got into ny eyes, and I can’t see very well.” He had drawn himself to Procter’s feet and stopped, turning a | little upon hus side, his head propped up with his hand, “You see, when I came through the door something fell against me, and not seeing you, and not being able to get about very well, there were sc many of those cussed Mexican thieves about, 1 was afraid they might make off with this?—holding out a flat leather book which John Procter seized with a glad exclamation. The man went on talk- ing in av absent way, *1 wouldn't have liked to have you think {li of me, you're the first man who gave me a chance since 1 got down, I wasn't always a loafer, sir. You spoke of my knowing something about the business, and to be sure I ought, if 15 years as a "sorter’ in the Wisconsin lum- ber regions can teach a map anything of lumber; bul when my wife died | struck off out west: it's been hard luck ever since-—and my little girl—back there with her grandparents’ — His voice seemed to fail for weak- ness, ‘*W hat have you eaten to-day?" asked the other sharply. The man answered reluctantly and almost in a tone of apology. “You see, sir—down there among the lamber piles how could 1?" John Proctor was a man given more to action than speech. He addressed the man now in clear, decided tones, “Do you think you could hold on to my back while 1 carried you down to the hotel?” “Why, sir! 1t wouldn't be fit.” “Shut up! Put your arms around ! my neck. The office and barroom of the hotel, a pretentious edifice of Eastlake archi- tecture, held its usual quota of respec- | table loafers, when John Proctor enter- | ed with the uncouth figure on his back. | A gurgile of laughter ran through the | crowd. The majority thought the young 300 feet wide and from 1,500 to 2,000 feet long. them. When I asked a French farmer how his farmer happened, like all the rest, to be so long and narrow, he said: *'It has been divided up so often. When a French father dies, he divides his The long strips are easily culti- vated, because we plough lengthways, These stripsalways run north and south, 80 that the sun can shine into the rows.” “How large is your farm?'’ | asked, “My father’s furm was 600 feet wide and 2,000 feet long, When he died my Now my farm is 150 It is many feet wide aud 2,000 feet long. quite a large farm, There are farms much smaller than mine,” “Can you support your familyon a like a man’s doorvard in America. ‘Support my family?” he exclaimed, “Why, the farm is too large for us, I rent part of it out now.” “But your house,” I said, “where is that?” “Oh, that is in town. of us live in one house there, Five families My wife “Does your wife always work in the field?” “Yes. My wife,” he continued, point- ing to a barefooted and bare headed She pitches the hay to the menon the stack. All French women work in the field, Why not? They have nothing to do at home,” This 1s true, The wife of a French, English, Irish or German farmer has pothing to do at home, They do not “keep house” like the wives of Ameri. can farmers. They have no houses to keep, The huts they live in are like stables, They live in the same build ing with their horses, hens and pigs. They never wash a floor, There is never a tablecloth. They live like brutes, The handsome farmhouse off by itself, not exist in France. There are millions of farms in France containing from a quarter of an acre t« four acres. I find that an acre and # half is about ali the most man wants, The reut for land is always one-half the crop. The land 1s worth about $400 an acre; or, if in grape vines, $600, This is why France 1s tke a garden. In England there are 227.000 landowners: in France there are 7 ers. The Frenchman on his two acres, with his barefooted wife cutting grain with a sickle by lus side, is happy and contented, because he knows no better, Such a degrading life would drive an American farmer mad, man thrives because he spends nothing, He has no wants beyond the coarsest after the wine is made. Yes, he is thrifty. He saves money, The aggregated wealth of 30,000,000 poor, degraded, barefooted peasants makes France rich. The ignorance of the French farmer is appalling. 1 never saw a newspaper in & French farm vil lage. Their wants are no more than the wants of a horse. The Frenchman ents the coarsest food; about the same 100, bread and wine for breakfast; soup, bread and wine for dinner, and perhaps bread and milk for supper; he does not a French farmer. Still, the French. opment of the weakness with which he had hitherto been accredited. The laughter suddenly ceased when the young man went straight to the clerk, saying, in clear, ringing tones: “Give me the best room you have. geon on the Atchinson road.” A dozen men sprang forward to re- carry the poor fellow to & comfortable room where he was gently laid upon the bed. The sufferer received these attentions in silence. His dim eyes stared incredulously about the room, and inte the kindly faces bending over him, That anything like this should happen to him. How long would it last? Would they let him have one good night's rest before turning him out again? When once more on the deso- Iate plain wandering th h sage brush, mesquite and soap weed it would seem like some strange dream. But what was this? The stalwart young lumberman speaking huskily to the doetor: “And, mind, McLean, do your best, I owe him more than I can tell you. Put him in good trim to take the fore. manship of my yard when I get stocked ’ up. This silly old vagrant buried his face in his pillow and wept. Two grand gineering fraught with falr-reaching social and political influences of greater oon. sequence than those which appear on the surface, are attracting attention of present, The one is the railway tunnel th h the the convention for wh has Franoo-Spanish In. : Railway Commission; the other is for the formation of a y 10 construct an international way Europe with Pereia, India, Durmab and Ohioa, schemes better. was cultivating his farm he saved any money, he said: “Oh, not much. I go to all the fetes, { laid by 500 francs ($100) last year, I put in the Caisse 4’ Epargne.” “What is that?" 1 asked of the land- lord. The government takes the monev of the poor, up to 1,000 francs, and gives them 33 per cent, for its use. The peasant 000 on deposit in these savings banks, Canada and the Queen, So— I remember says M. Ferber, a curi- anthem. Inoneof my lectares i Ae state ceremony at Sandringham, while the Prince of Wales lay sick there of what threatened so formidably to be a fatal illness, The audience listened spellbound. I uttered the sentence, “The Queen strolled up and down in front of the house, unattended, in the brief interval she allowed herself from the sick-room.’”’ Suddenly came an in terruption. A tall, gaunt figure in the crowd uprose, and pointing at me a bug finger on the end of a long arm, uttered the word “stop!” Then, facing theau- dience, he exclaimed: “Ladies and gen- tiemen! This loyal audience will sow sing: ‘God save the Queen!" The audi- ence promptly stood up asd obeved with genuine fervor, I meanwhile patimtly waiting the fipale of the interlude. When it had fin I proceeded with my narrative, and as a contrast to the suffering of Sandringham, depicted the happy pageant in St. Paul's on the thanksgiving day forthe Queen's recovery. It is the custom in to propose a vote of thanks to the lectu- rer, and the chairman arose and uttered the usual formula. n the tall, gaunt figure was or its “Ladies and gentlemen,” said he, “1 rise to pro- pose an amendment to the motion.y I move that the Jecttires oy uested to repeat that portion o re- ferring to our Sacto sovereign,” And repeat it I d : LA I Osiris, Whey is » hairdresser like a Fenian? { a8 well as usual and get up in the morn- | ing with a royal cold, He goes peek- | ing around in search of eracks and key- t holes and tiny drafts, Weather strips are procured and the house made as tight as a fruit can. In a few days | more the whole family has colds, Let a man go home tired or exhausted, eat a full supper of starchy and vegeta. bie food, occupy his mind intently for i awhile, go to bed In a warm close room, and if he doesn’t have a cold in the | morning it will be a wonder, A drink of whisky or a glass or two of beer be- | fore supper will facilitate matters very much, People swallow more colds down their froats than they inhale or receive from contact with the air, no matter how | cold or chill it may be. Plain, hearty suppers are good to go to bed on, and far more conducive to refreshing sleep than a glass of beer or a dose of enloral, In the estimation of a great many this { statement is rank heresy, but in the light of science, common sense and ex perience it is gospel truth, Of all the animals on the face of the { earth, man is the only one that can be trained to go to sleep on an empty stom ach. At first—that is while he is a little baby and guided by instinct—he will not do it, but kicks and yells until he gets his stomach full before he will shut] one eve,. Then he cuddles down { and sleeps like a top until he gets hun- | gry again, When he gets big enough | to be spanked he is submitted to a severe course of training, which finally con- i quers his instinct, and in defiance of | his nature he can get to sleep with the eries of his nervous and physical system for food ringing in his ears, His sleep will be more or less disturb- ed by this clamor, but it is attributed to nervousness. lle gets up in the morning feeling tired and exhausted, | No wonder; ali of the forces engaged in restoring the waste of the body during the working hours have been idle half the night for want of matenal to work on. The common’sense of the thing is this: While the mind is active the biood ves- sels of the brain aie distended, To se- cure rest for the mind the quantity of blood in the brain must be reduced. To secure proper digestion of food, the blood vessels of the stomach must be well filled. Now it is s0 arranged that when the vessels of the stomach are full | those of the brain are depleted, and vice versa. Therefore, to exercise the mind and call the blood away from the stom- | ach immediately after eating, interferes with digestion, and, if persevered in, brings on dyspepsia, On the other hand, by lying down ‘and taking a nap after eating, as other animals are wont to do, perfect diges- tion is secured. The stomach draws the surplus blood from the brain and | uses the increased vital energy to assist in the digestion of the food. The ab- | sence of this amount of blood from the brain gives it a chance to rest. Thus two very important organs have been materially aided the discharge of their particular functions, Those who have been in the habit of | going to bed hungry should not begin ating full meals at once. A small glass of milk, a pretzel, small piece of meat and well-baked bread or toast is enough to begin on. Cold meats, except pork, baked beans, apples and other light fruits and bread all make good *‘night caps,’ far better than bourbon or brandy. ‘hose who work late at night will find a “‘snack™ the very thing to insure them quiet, refreshing sleep. The same plan is one of the very best for preventing colds, providing the rooms are well ventilated and the sleep | ing apartment kept cool. When a cold is caught the best thing to do is to give the stomach a rest for at least one day, eating a light supper half an hour before going to bed. A drink or two of hot tea or coffee during the day and a hot, ' sour lemonade before turning in for the night. in the matter of dress people cannot be {oo careful, but there is just as much | danger of overdressing as not dressing {enough., Wear woolens or merino next {the skin, with medium-weight outer | garments. Extra heavy overcoats are | as bad as seal skin sacques. Medium i weights, such as can be worn in spring | or fall, are heavy enoug for any except the severest weather, The few days ‘we bave of that scarcely justifies the { purchase of a heavy overcoat. The | emergency can usually be met by doub- ling up the under garments for the [time being. Thick, solid shoes are always in order. Rubbers should be avoided, except when the streets are wet and sloppy, and never worn ine doors, Sealskin sacques are all right if they are used properly. It was not the in- tention to scare any lady out of bu one, nor to furnish a stingy h with an excuse for not furnishing the wherewithal if he can afford it. ——— A S————— Wiad pogs. in in For about three years the people in the upper portion of the Eighth District of Worth Sout} have lost a large num- ber of sheep hogs, whithont know mg exactly whether they were killed or stolen. A few days ago however, the mystery was cleared up. A party out hunting saw a number of dogs in the cyclone timber. The dogs were as wild as deer, ud the hunpers could not get in range them. Securing a large crowd, a regular deer hunt was organ- imd. Men were placed at RN ote aa : Soon the When he's a head contre,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers