Butler citizen. (Butler, Pa.) 1877-1922, October 13, 1893, Image 1

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    VOL. xxx -
Read! Read!! Read!!!
of the greatest bargains ever offered in But It r. in Dry Goods,
Millinery. Wraps, Notions, Trimmings, Underwear, Hosiery, &c
Best all wool white blankets, worth $5.00 for $4.00.
Best all wool country flannel, worth 35c per 3d for 25c.
Ladies' full size all wool skirts, worth SI.OO lor 85c.
Men's natural all wool underwear, worth $3.00 for a suit.
Ladies' all wool hose, worth 35c per pair for 25c
Good all wool factory yarn. 50c per lb.
Lawn nce L L sheeting, w irth 7c for 5c per yd.
Good pinghams at 5c |>er yd.
Good fast color, dark prints 5c per yd
Gcod unbundled Damask, worth 35c for 25c per yd.
Best unblt .ched Damask, worth 50c for 37c per yd.
Besides ali this we have the latest novelties in Millinery,
Wraps, Dress Geods. Novelties in Fancy Dress Good Patterns,
no two alike, (Black Goods a Specialty.) These are all to be
found at the well known Bargain House of Butler.
(Successor to Ritter & Ralston.)
Mel's Reduction Sale
Of Seasonable Goods.
Oar entire stock of russet goods including many -[different styles in
Ladies'and Gents shoes and oxfords have been placed on our biirgain counter
to be closed out at less than cost prices. Call and see our Russet shoes and
Oxfords, whether you are needing a pair or not, for after visiting our bar
gain counter you are pure to buy.
Ladies Rassett Shoe 3 Hand Turn, price $4.00. now at $2 50
" $3.50, " $2.25.
" " regular price, $2 25, now at $1.75.
Men's Russett Shoes—many different style*, price $4.00, now at $3.00.
Men's Russett shoes, regular price $3.25, reduced to $2 50.
Ladies' hand turn Oxfords, price $2.25, now at $1.65
Ladies' Russett Oxfords, regular price $1.25, now at 75c
Balance of our Misses' and Childrens' Tau aud Red shoes .and t Oxfords
at a bargain.
We have received most of our Fall stock and can sell fall foot**wear
cheaper than ever before.
Fall stock of Men's Box toe Boots and Shoes
Ladies' Calf Shoes button or lace at $1.25.
Ladies' best Oil Grain Shoes at $1.25.
Ladies' Kip shoes at SI.OO.
Misses' and Children's school shoes 75c and upwards. Boys' school
boes at SI.OO per pair
Men's fine calf shoes, button, lace or cougress at $1.25.
Men's fine calf Dress Boots at $2.00 to $3.50 per pair.
Fall stock of Mens' Fine Dress Shoes in Calf, Kangaroo or Cordovan.
Balance of oar Men's Patent Leather shoes go at $2.50 per pair.
Fall stock of Rubber Goods and prices very low. When in Sutler, call
and examine my goods and learn my prices.
Hail Orders Receive Prompt Attention.
Opening of Clothing*;-
All oar Fall Goods are entirely new a* did not buv a dollars worth
of heavy goods when we opened in the Spring
All welcome whether you wish\o buy or uot. Come anil tee
Reliable One Price Clothiers.
Cor. Main and Cunningham Sts., Butler, Pa.
The Fair is Coming.
60 pairs of Ladies' fioe Oxfords Eddys & Webster's make were 2.75
now only 1 90. 200 pairs of Ladies' sbdbs Eddy & Webster's make hand
turned and welt were 4.50 and 5.00 no# only 3 75. 1 lot of Ladies' shoes
hand turned werp 2.25 and 2.50 now only 1.90. 1 lot of Oxford? ties only
60 cts All children's Red nndtan shoes at 85 eta. wore 1.00 aud 1.25 1
lot Men's Cordovan Strong & Carrell make were 550 now ouly
4.65. 1 lot Men's French ealf shoes Strong & Carrell make were 475 now
only 3.90. 1 lot Men's Dongola were 225 now 1.65 1 lot Men's double
sole aud »ap were 2.00 now 1.45.
All Shoes Down to Rock Bottom Prices at
8. E. corner of Diamond • _ Butler, Po.
\J let 111 Oil (IS < SCARF PINS,
[ '•Trips,
~W/ \ I'ADlfciS " 'OLD,
▼ t cllUirS ( GKNTS SILVER
JpWPIrV • i G ? ,d S p » w . * ar-rings,
,7 ] Rings Chains, Bracelets, Etc,
1 Tea sets, castors, butter dishes
Sllvprwiirp "i and everything that can be
' * { found in a first class sto*-e.
RODGER BROS. |™|Tp.a^ rks> Spoons -
No. 139, North Main St., BUTLER, PA.,
| | FOUR WO? S! ■■>,
I |"Two Bottles Cured Mei'^
■■i DKJia t>lE6:—For yrara I bar - :. i ! <1
Ssviih llheamittl«ui. ulto 1.;.« r «• ...
■Brtfy HVoublt*. Nothing b»<- ; '-i to it ■
Bpwuifanlly until I trie*J
two l»ottle<i M'JfCKI) All'. £*.
m ■>
££ Esperanto, N.Y. MRS. P. « T . CROMWKIJU
== This crrtifie* that I know the above Mrs. I' J.
g=j-Cromwell to be trunlworlliy, ar-J one upon***
■whose word you ran rely.
A. 11. McKLE, Justice of the Fe* «. ';
s. Lsper&nct. N. Y.
m Dins Sarsaparlila Co., Beifsst, Maine. _
B. <*• B.
i . _
How •
Tbe qu.t-**i<>u with u- in extending
this already enormous bu.~in":-a is,
not bow much wl* can get for the
merchandise, but for how little can it
be sold? This hut ex-!< ulifies how
its to your it and profit to trade
with us.
Di •ess Woolens.
Sale of 5,000 yards double width Suit
ings—half wool, neat styles; every
yard worth 25c , 35c. to 50c.—all at
one price, and its a popular price,
15 Onls a yard.
50 inch
Scotch Suitings,
Greys, Browns, Taus,
25 cents
—you've paid 50c for Dress Fabrics
not so good.
£>,ooo yards genuine fmported
Tailor Suitings,
finest wool —4B inches wide—new
Fall colorings and tbe choicest of tL 8
season's styles—neat checks, stripes
and mixtures,
SI.OO a yard.
Somestores—and good stores too
—get $1 40 a yard—some $1 25--and
the universal selling price—the
closest price for tbese choice Dress
Fabrics is $1.15. We sell them at
SI.OO aod you're ahead the difference.
Our Mail Order Dapirtmaat will
send samples if you wish.
Boggs &C Bulil,
iia to 121 Federal Street,
Clearance Sale.
We must have more room and we
want to reduce our wall paper stock.
We will sell you paper now
cheaper thau we can afford to sell it
next spring.
Our object is to reduce stock uud
we will give you wholesale prices on
any amount.
If you will evir need wall paper,
buy it now.
J. H. Douglass',
341 S. Moin St, Ntar. 1* O
* Great Clothing Sale-;-
The Racket Store,
Men's suits double or single breast
ed, square or rouad corners ia cash
mere or cheviots at sfi 00, $6 50 and
These suits are richly worth
SIO.OO and will o >st you that else
Youths suits, age 12 to 18 for
$3 50 worth $5.00
Fine lelay worsted cutaway suits
at SIB.OO, others sell at $22.00
120 South Main Street, Butler, I'a
Planing Mill
Lumber Yard
J. L. i*U KVI-.. t . o. n HVIB
S.G. Purvis&Co.
Rough and Planed Lumber
o? JCVCKY description,
Butler, Po.
Oh' yiere's sadness in the household, an<
there's gloom upon the street—
When Sissy starts to play on the planner.
The robins and the bob-o-links, they beat a swift
When Sissy starts to play on the planner.
Even the organ-grinder passes swiftly by th«
His empty tincup in his hand, his eye a-j-lcan
with hate;
The neighborhood for blocks around is strangeij
When Sissy starts to play on the pianner.
The yoang man in the parlor is sitting pale a<
When Sissy starts to play on the pianner.
While father thinks the house too warm and
goes to get a "breath"—
When Sissy starts to play on the planner.
The tomcats jump from off the fence and fly t<
parts unknown,
Where they may charm the stilly night Witt
music of their own.
And Towscr s:ts and bays the moon out in th<
yard alone—
When Sissy starts to play on the pianner.
The dishes leave the pantry shelves and roi:
upon the floor-
V.'lien Sissy starts to play on the pianner.
And grandma says she's positive a burglar's at
the door—
When Sissy starts to play on the pianner.
Oh: what woe and mental anguish upon my
mind descend;
What haste and desperation all my movements
do attend!
Excuse me—l must snatch my hat and go to see
a friend—
Ere Sissy starts to play on the pianner.
—Henry D. Muir, in Puck.
Why the Old Line Fenoe Was
Torn Down.
It was a close, sultry summer after
noon, with scarce a breath of air stir
ring-, while the sun poured his scorching
rays from a cloudless sky. All nbout
the old Burton farmhouse a deathlike
stillness reigned. There were no sounds
of voices from within, no creaking foot
steps on the uncarpeted floors; while,
without, even the songs of the birds
were hushed. The dingy, forlorn-look
ing house, with its low unpainted,
weather-stained exterior, its low doors
and its small windows, was even more
desolate and forsaken in appearance
than was its wont, and at first glance
one would have thought it completely
deserted. But a closer observation
proved that such was not the case.
Isaac Burton, old and gTay, and bent
under the cares and burdens of years
of trial and toil, sat on the doorstep of
the house wifh his face buried in his
hands, now and then casting a furtive
glance through the open door in tie di
rection of a bed in a corner of the room.
While he sat there the sun crawled
down the western sky, casting its
shadow obliquely through the open
door, yet he seemed unmindful of the
fact that time wjw passing. Rising
from the steps, finally, he stood an in
stant listening to the slow, regular
breathing that came from the bed, then
walked out across the neglected yard,
muttering, half audibly:
"She sleeps well, but I don't like the
'pearance of her face."
Iteacliing the crooked rail fence that
separated the yard from_ the public
highway, old Isaac stopped and for a
little while stood looking down the
hard, white road that ran through the
long, straight lane to the east. The
road was deserted, not a living object
being visible on all the two miles of it
that lay within his view.
"She ort to have the doctor," he mut
tered, "yit I don't like to leave her to
go and fetch him. She looks mouty
quare 'bout the face an' eyes, an' I'm
afeerd she's bad tuck." Then, after a
short silence: "If only somebody was
passin' this way, so's I eould send word
to the mill an' git the doctor."
Then Isaac cast a look in the direc
tion of the ridge, a fourth of a mile to
the west, where a small log house,
similar to his own, stood, and some
thing like a sigh escaped him. Shak
ing- his head sadly, he turned away.
"Neighbors 'd be powerful helpin'
an' comfortin' just now," he mused,
"an' I'd give a heap if we had some. I
never got lonesome when Lindy was
up an' about, but now she's down I
feel like half the world is gone, an' it
'pears like I hope fer somebody to keep
me company. Them people," nodding
toward # the house on the opposite
ridge, "ain't no neighbors, an' no
matter what comes I can't go to them
for nothin'."
For some time old Isaac walked to
and fro in the little path leading from
the gate to the door, then again he
went and leaned over the fence to look
down the road. Instantly his face
brightened and a glad light came into
his eyes, for away down the lane he
saw a man approaching. hearty a
quarter of an hour passed before the
latter came up, but Isaac waited for
him and accosted him at once:
"Sam, I never was so glad to see any
body as lam to see you. Are you goin'
over to the mill?"
"Yes," Sam replied, after eying old
Isaac inquiringly for almost a minute.
"What has happened, Ike?"
"Lindy is bad sick, Sam," Ike said, in
a low tone, "an' all night an' all day
I've been stayin' with her alone. I
lcnowed, too, that she ort to have the
doctor, but I was afeerd to leave her,
an' there wa'n't nobody to send. You
kin tell him to come when you git to
the mill."
"Yes, I'll tell him, Ike, an' if there's
anything else I kin do fer you I'll do it,
an' bo glad to."
"No; that's all. Tell him to come as
quick as he kin, Sam."
"Yes, I will. But you ort to have
somebody to stay with you, Ike. Some
body to help 'bout nussin' an' 'tendin' on
Mis* Burton."
"I know that," Isaac replied, with a
sigh and a slow shaking of his head.
"I'd give a heap to have somebody
here, but I can't git nobody now."
For a moment Sam was silent, casting
a. glance first at Isaac, then at the
house on the ridge to the west. Isaac
saw the action and understood.
"Xo, Sam," he said, half sadly, half
vindictively, "I'll never go there for a
favor, never!"
"In a case like this things ought to
be different," Sam suggested. "People
ought to forgive and forget, Ike."
"Mebby so, Sam, mebby so; but they
wouldn't feel that way. All that's been
said an' done in thirty years can't be
forgot in a day."
It was a little while before Sam
spoke again. lie wished to proceed just
right in his kindly purpose—that of
reconciling two long estranged families
—and for a time he was at a loss how
to do it. Finally he said:
"Ike, if Mis' Martin felt inclined to
come you wouldn't object, would you?"
Isaac shook his head.
"She won't feel so inclined, Sam It
ain't natural that she should."
"I don't know," Sam replied. "Mfe'
Martin has a kind heart, an' she is
syaipathizin' with the sick an' the
needy. She's a good woman, Ike."
"She may be, but I ain't ready to say
so. It's been thirty years since my
family an' the Martins have neigh
bored, an' in all that time not a word
has passed between us. It's hard to
forget an' forgive after so long, Sam,
an' I 'low Mis' Martin can't do it. She
may be a good woman, but she ain't
good enough to do that."
Sam said no more, but went on up
the road toward the mill, while Isaac
returned to his seat on the doorstep.
Lindy still slept, and, as her husband
sat listening to her breathing, his
thoughts ran over the conversation he
had just had with Sam Gross.
"I'd be glad to have Mis' Martin here,"
he thought, "but I ain't no right to ex
pect her to come, even if she was Chris
tian enough to forgive an' forgit. Three
months ago. when Martin lay sick, I
Saeref. Wa. aa' tvte
when he died I kept away from the
house, not so much asseein' him buried.
I ain't no right to expect her to be more
forgivin" than myself."
When Sam Gross arrived at Mrs. Mar
tin's house he went in and asked for a
drink of water. She gave it to him,
then asked him to stop awhile to rest.
"I'd be glad enough tcf Sara replied,
mopping the perspiration from his
brow, "but I'm in too mu:h of a hur
ry. Comin' by Burton's just now, Ike
he comes out an' says Lindy is bad tuck,
an' that he's afeared she's goin' off, an'
he asks me to send the doctor up, so
I'll have to git 'long as peart as I kin.
Poor Lindy!" Sam went on, after a
short pause, "I 'low that doctors an'
medicine an' sich Pkes ain't agoin' to
do her much good 'less'n she has proper
nussin'. Ike can't 'tend on her wv.th
shocks, no matter how hard he tries,
an' if he goes 'bout in sight of 'er with
that forlorn, sad look he wears, she'll
die shore, jest o' that alone. She needs
a good, cheerful woman nuss, Mis' Mar
tin, sech as you'd be, now."
Sam stopped and waited, as if for a
reply from Mrs. Martin, but she did not
speak, and he went on:
"In cases like that," he said, "it's a
great pity folks ain't got no neighbors,
fer good neighbors is a power o' com
fort to the sick an' them as is related to
the sick. There's no knowin' what
good nussin' would do fer Mis' Burton,
ner how consolin' a word o' sympathy
would be to poor old Ike in his loneli
ness. I feel fer them poor critters, Mis'
Martin, an' I do wish somebody would
be neighborly with 'em."
Again Sam paused, but Mrs. Martin
said nothing, and he saw that he must
speak plainer in order to make the im
pression he desired.
"Mis' Martin," he continued, "life is
powerful short, an' if people expect to
prepare fer eternity they ain't got no
time to waste ia useless bickerin's.
Them as expects to be happy in the
next world can't afford to spend their
time here in contentions. Fer my part.
Mis' Martin, I'd hate to let a cross
fence atween two farms stand betwixt
me an' my neighbors, much less betwixt
me an' Heaven. Now fer thirty years
that cross fence up there has kept you
uns an' the Burtons apart, makin' you
enemies when you ousrht to 'a' been
friends an' neighbors, an' it was all on
account of contentiousness. Either
family would 'a' made up in a minute
if the other would 'a' tuck the fust
step, but neither would budge an inch,
an' so it's gone on an' on, al) of you
bein' as miserable as sin. Mis' Martin,
'tain't right. People as hopes to be for
give in the next world must forgive in
this. I put it to you, now. Mis' Martin,
if I ain't right?"
"Sam, you are right," Mrs. Martin re
plied. "That cross-fence trouble has
caused me many sorrowful days, and
there never has been a time when I
wouldn't gladly have buried the strife
and made friends with the Burtons.
But I thought the first advances to
ward a reconciliation ought to come
from Isaac. He was most to blame."
"Mis' Martin," said Sam, "I don't know
who was most to blame. I ain't no
call to speak of that. But this I know:
If a person is a true Christian an'
wants to so act, that person mustn't
stick at no fine p'lnts; an' in a effort to
fetch about a reconciliation lie must be
willin' to go more'n half-way to meet
t'other party. Scripture says, Mis'
Mart'-i. to'do good to them that de
spiteiully use you,' an' as Christians
we're bound to do it."
S :m spoke with deep solemnity, and
it was plain that his words had a great
effect on his auditor. Mrs. Martin was
a Christian woman and she meant well,
but, like many other good people, she
found it hard to humble herself. There
was a long silence, during which a con
flict between duty and pride waged
within Mrs. Martin's bosom.
"Sam," she said, at last, "do you
think Isaac would not resent my com
ing into his house?"
"I know he wouldn't," Sam replied,
promptly. "More than that, Mis'
Mariin, I know he'd welcome you."
"Then I'll go, Sam, an' let the out
come of it be what it may, I know I
shall feel the better for goin'."
Sam started on his way, happy in the
thought of wha,t he had accomplished,
and hoping that his efforts might lead
to the burial of the differences that
had so long kept the two families at
Mrs. Martin went immediately to
Burton's, and when old Isaac from his
seat on the doorstep saw her coming up
the yard-path he was more surprised
than he ever had been in all his life.
However, he composed himself suffi
ciently to give her a fitting reception
and remove from her mind all fear of
her visit being considered an intrusion.
At first there was an air of restraint
about the actions and conversation of
both, but that gradually died out, and
in time they became easy and natural
in their deportment.
The doctor came, but he could not
give Isaac any encouragement, for he
found that Lindy was in a dangerous
condition, with little prospect of im
"She is very low," he said, "and we
can hope for no change for the better.
I'm afraid she cannot last long."
And the doctor was right, for day by
day the sick woman sank, and aCter the
lapse of a week she closed her eyes on
earth forever. All through the week
Mrs. Martin stayed by the bedside, de
voting herself to the invalid as faith
fully as ever nurse did, receiving the
blessings of her charge and the heart
felt gratitude of Isaac. Then, when
all was over, she returned to her home
happier than she bad been for thirty
long years.
A year passed, and the people of
Possum Ridge began to wonder if the
cross-fence trouble was to be revived in
court again. The time for which a stay
of proceedings had been granted had
nearly expired, and at the next sitting
of the court the case would be called up
for further action. Isaac and Mrs. Mar
tin had become neighborly, but neither
of them had ever mentioned the cross
fence, and the matter stood just as it
had before Lindy's death. People had
talked a great deal about it., some con
jecturing that old Isaac would dismiss
the case after Mrs. Martin's kindness
to his wife, some maintaining that he
would not, and some going so far as
to predict that Mrs. Martin, in the for
giving disposition of her heart, would
dismiss the case herself. Sam Gross
heard all that was said, watched pro
ceedings quietly, and even ventured to
speak to each of the parties separately,
in the hope of having the affair settled
amicably. But still everything re
mained in doubt, and but a week must
elapse before the coming on of court.
Sam shook his head sadly, feeling that,
after all, his efforts had fallen far short
of his cherished desired.
Late one afternoon old Isaac donned
his best clothing, and, taking down his
cane, walked up the road to Mrs. Mar
tin's. The widow received him gra
ciously, inviting him to a seat on the
long, rambling porch, and exerting her
self to the utmost to make him feel
"Mis' Martin," Isaac said, after they
had exchanged a few commonplace re
marks, "you know, of course, that the
cross-fence suit is to come up in court
next week?"
"Yes; I know it," the widow
answered, sadly, "and I wish with all
my heart that it wasn't. I'm tired of
"So am I, Mis' Martin," Isaac said,
with a slow shaking of his head. "I
wish now that cross fence had never ex
isted. It's been a source of sorrertoall
of us, an' many's the time I've regretted
deeply that the suitwas ever brought,
an' I've regretted it a thou'san times
more than ever durin' the last year."
"So have I," the widow replied "If
we had only been friends an' neighbors
while Martin and Lindy lived. We've
missed a great deal, Mr. Burton, by our
contentions, an' now that t'other two
is (rone we ought to try to live better
an' happier lives. We ought to drop
the old suit an' bury our differences.
Don't you feel so?"
"I da I've felt it for a long time,
Mis' Martin, an' I come here this even
in' to talk the matter over an' see if we
couldn't agree to a plan of settlement.
1 have a plan to offer, Jane, which, if
'twas agreeable to you, would settle the
trouble forever."
Mrs. Martin arched her eyebrows in
surprise when Isaac spoke her first
name, for that was the first time in his
life that he had shown such familiarity.
Yet she did not seem offended at all,
nor did she appear displeased when he
drew his chair nearer hers and looked
into her face with an unmistakable
"Jane," he went on, in low soft tones,
"we are gittin' old, an' we're all alone
in the world. For thirty yeirs we've
been as strangers, an' we've each
helped to sadden the life of the other.
We can blot out the old trouble, an'
the line-fence with it, an' I feel that
we ought to do it. It's our duty to
forgit the past, an' in the future try to
make up to each other the happiness
we've missed. We can make the farms
one, Jane, an' then there'll be no need
of no cross fence an' we kin make our
lives an' interests one, an' then there'll
be no need for no more contentions."
Isaac paused, but, as the widow di d
not raise her eyes nor attempt to speak,
he went on:
"I'm a lonely old man, Jane," he said,
"an' want somebody to keep me compa
ny through my few remaining years,
an' nobody would suit me like you. I
love you, Jane, for your .kindness to
Lindy, an' I want you to forgive me for
all of the past an' be my wife. We can
be comfortable an' we can cheer each
other in our declining days. Jane, will
you do it?"
The widow lifted her face, beautiful
in spite of its age, and, looking into
Isaac's eyes with an answering tender
ness, laid her hand in his.
"Yes, Isaac," she said, "I will be your
wife, an' will faithfully try to fill Lin
dy's place in your home."
A few days later the old couple were
married, and Sara Oross, who was pres
ent at the ceremony, took to himself
much of the credit for the happy termi
nation of affairs, and not unjustly,
Isaac immediately threw the old suit
out of court, then put men to work to
tear down the old line fence and turn
the two farms into one, just as the own
ers had turned their lives and interests
into one. Thus the last vestige of the
old trouble was removed, and the two
surviving litigants entered on a quiet,
happy existence, at peace with all the
world. —Thomas E. Montfort, in Les
lie's Weekly.
—"Truly good young men," said Mrs.
Errordite, "are as scarce as angel's
teeth!" "Why, (fran'ma! What an ex
pression!" "I should have said," hastily
added the old lady, "as scarce as hen's
Characteristics of the Frontier Deiper
adoet Who Held Life Cheap.
The wonder grows whence sprang
these men, who, with pistols on both
hips and knives in their belts, were
ever eager for some fray, and when no
one could be found to accommodate
them picked a quarrel and then killed
their fellow-man.
The peculiar dangers that attend the
pursuit of gold seem to bring out, in
enormous degree, all the latent vic
iousness in man, and the interest is,
where did such men hide themselves
when in more peaceful parts, or
did the mere sight of the precious
metal or the insatiable greed to obtain
it transform a respectable citizen into
an animal in contrast with whom a
royal Bengal tiger would be sociable
and almost coaapanionable?
I asked this question, says a writer
in the San Francisco Chronicle, of 11.
J. Crow, of Los Angeles, one of "her
most prosperous and adventurous busi
ness men, who had founded Idaho City
and had followed mining in many
states and territories, about the char
acteristics of these "bad men" and
whence they came.
"You could generally bet on it," said
Mr. Crow, "that they were from the
southern states, and seemed to have
had dark experiences before they had
penetrated into the mines. As a rule
they were lazy men, possessed with al
most animal strength, and were utter
ly devoid of remorse. Indeed, these
men—and I have known several—ap
parently felt that they owed nothing
to society and had no responsibility. I
saw three men hanged together one
day and heard one say to the other:
" 'Well, Jim, go ahead, I'll meet you
in hell in a minute,' and when it came
his turn to swing he shouted: 'Three
cheers for Jeff Davis.' They actually
ifeared nothing and held their own
lives as cheaply as they took others.
Where these men disappeared after the
mines gave cut, or whether they ever
became peaceable citizens, I cannot
say. I know several have adopted the
latter role, buft it would take very lit
tle provocation to make them as blood
thirsty as when they sought victims in
The Cureall.
A Bazar reader who is blest with a
large family, is a striet disciplinarian,
and never gives in to a refractory child.
She thinks spanking accomplishes all
things. One day the dessert was a pie
which seemed small for the number to
be served, and she said: "Oh, dear me,
this pie won't go round."
"Spank it and make it go round,"
sang out a little voice from far down
the table. —Harper's Bazar.
Not IJribecL
Citizen—People are saying that you
were bribed to put through that thiev
ing bill in behalf of the Graball com
Legislator (haughtily) —Huh? Who
would there bo to bribe me, I should
like to know. No one, sir. Not a liv
ing soul.
Citizen—But that company-
Legislator—Why, I'm the company.
—N. Y. Weekly.
Horse and llorse.
Butler —There's a man below to see
you, sir.
May berry—What did you tell him?
Butler —I told him you told me if it
was a lady to say you were in; and if
it was a man to say you were out.
Mayberry—What did he say then?
Butler —He said to tell you he was a
lady.—Chicago Post.
The Trouble.
"Arc you going to the fair?"
"If I can afford to. I doubt if I
"Why, your wife said she was go
"Yes, but I pay her expenses. I
haven't anybody to pay mine."—Judge.
A Work of Time.
Mr. McSwat—Have you packed your
trunk yet, Lobelia?
Mrs. McSwat —Not yet.
Mr. McSwat (looking at his watch) —
Then you» haven't any time to lose.
The train leaves in exactly thirty-six
hours. —Chicago Tribune.
Small Change.
Mrs. Riverside Parke —I wish I
could have ft little change this sum
Mr. Riverside Parke —You can, my
dear. Here is a dime for ygu.— Texas
BUT Sri Mtloni of Approaching DIMOIO
tIon Are l.lttlo Known to I'hjilrluu.
Descriptions of the sensations of
those who thought they were about to
die, but who passed into a more or less
profound state of unconsciousness and
afterward recovered, though intense
and realistic, cannot be accepted as
authentic portrayals of the sensations
of the dying, since these persons did
not die, says a medical writer in Kate
Field's Washington. The temporary
suspension of all the physical signs of
life, as in a trance or lethargy, may so
exactly simulate death that all may
agree that the person is dead, while
yet that indefinable something which
holds the soul to the body remains and
is capable of reinstating the common
phenomena of life. We have no reason
to assume that the sensations expe
rienced in passing into this state of
unconsciousness resemble the sensa
tions of those who have actually felt
the earthly house of this tabernacle
dissolved. Unconsciousness is not
death. It only objectively resembles
it. Physicians at the bedside of the
dying, while holding the flickering,
weakening pulse beneath the finger,
eagerly watch for some word or sign
expressive of the sensations of ap
proaching dissolution. Nothing, how
ever, of value ever comes to us. In
deed many a life goes out leaving be
hind clear indications that there is no
appreciation whatever of the great
overshadowing change that is upou it,
even though the wind remains clear
and active to the last.
A mother hearing me whisper at her
beside: "She is dying," opened her
eyes and replied: "I'll be better in a
minute," though when the minute had
elapsed she had given her last sigh—
her last heart-throb A little gtrl
clinging to her father's hand one sunny
morning said: "Papa, light the lamp;
it is getting so dark," and immediately
expired. A young man asked: "Why
do you all cry? I shall get well soon,"
and fell back on his pillow, dead.
These expressions show clearly that
the putting on of immortality was un
accompanied by sensations indicative
of the change.
In a great majority of cases death ia
Ijjeeeded by a period of unconscious
ness, more or less profound and of
greater or iess duration. In this state
the vital spark goes out painlessly and
without any evidence of the mind be
ing illumined for a single instant by
returning consciousness. Deathbeds
are rarely painful.
Immrngo Quantities of La nee Brought
Down by Glacier*.
It is a matter of surprise to all who,
for the first time, have any experiences
in high northern latitudes, to note
the great abundance of insect life in
Alaska. The writer of this paragraph,
says Meehan's Monthly, was especially
interested in noting the large amount
of larvaj and other low conditions of
animal life which was carried down
from the melting glaciers into the
rivers and streams which flowed from
them. It is to this that we have to
attribute the great abundance of high
er forms of animal life which prevail.
Fish especially are in such quantities
near the coast, attracted by this
abundance, that it seems like repeat
ing the tales of Baron Munchausen to
the listener. The young son of the
writer, who was with him in this ex
pedition, was, with a couple of Indians
in a boat, able to drive salmon into
narrow creeks in such abundance that
the boat would be driven against the
fish in their endeavors to escape. They
could have been dragged up la shoafcs
by any strong and ordinary net. In
the earlier history of Colorado very
much stress was laid on the fact that
Fremont saw a bee on one of the high
elevations while crossing the Rocky
mountains. Lieut. Peary in his recent
expedition to North Greenland found
a bumble bee on the north coast of
Greenland —the highest point of land
yet reached by a human being so far
as known. This explorer states that
not only bees, but other insects abound
as soon as the spring fairly opens.
Flowers of many kinds are particular
ly beautiful and abundant, affording a
good chance for honey and pollen-col
lecting insects to lay up rich stores in
advance of their long Arctic winters.
While the Men Idle Away Their Time
Their Wive* Labor.
The women of Brittany are remark
able for their individuality, industry
and strength of character. In "Artis
tic Travel" the author says that while
the men slumber and smoke, the
women are building little fortunes or
propping up old ones.
Let us picture a prominent person
age at the old Hotel du Lion d'Or. She
has a beautiful name, Augustine, pro
nounced with enviable accuracy by all
the household.
She hovered abo»t us like a fairy, at
tending to all our wants in the most
delicate way; to outward seeming a
ministering angel with pure white
wings, but in truth, a drudge, a me
thodical housewife, massive and hard
to the touch.
She did the work o'f three Parisian
garcons, and walked upstairs, unaided,
with portmanteaus which would re
quire two men to lift, anywhere out
of Brittany. She slept in a box in the
kitchen and dressed "somehow" in
five minutes. She ate what was left,
contentedly, at the end of the day,
and rose at sunrise to do the laborious
work of the house, helping also at
harvest time in the fields.
She had the sweetest of smiles, when
she liked, an unconquerable habit of
taking snuff, and a murderous way of
killing fowls in the early morning
which we shall not easily forget
How it comes to pass that this girl of
nineteen occupies such an important
position in the household is one of
those things which are peculiar to
Brittany. All through the land, in the
houses, in the factories, and in the
fields, the strong, firm hand and arm
of a woman does the work.
What Would Ton l>o?
Now If you should visit a Japanese home
Where there Isn't a sofa or chair.
And your hostess should say: "Take a leat, sir,
I pray,"
Now, where would you sit? tell me where.
And should they persuade you to stay there
and dine.
Where knives, forks and spoons are un
Do you think you could cat with chop<tlck§
of wood,
And how might you pick up a bone?
And then, should they take you a Jap«iieM
In a neat little "rickshaw" of blue.
And you found, In Japah, that your horse was •
Now what do you think you would do?
—Mary M. Scott, In N. Y. Independent
lu day time, as I go about,
fhear my thoughts speak plainly out;
They bid me run and laugh and shout
And have all sorts of fun.
And when the lessons have been said.
They straightway put It In my head
To play again tUI time for bed,
Wnlch comes when day Is done. /
At night time, quits the other way,
Ineveronce have heard them say
That they'd like me to go and play;
They are so still, you see.
For If they speak, It Is so low
I cannot hear, and so I know
How noiselessly they come and go
While making dreams for me.
—St Nichols."
Undivided Affection.
narold—Ethel, I love thee alone.
Ethel—l know It, Harold- I've dono
my prettiest to shake ma, but I can't.
—Town Topics.
It Can lir Built for Two Dollar* and 9#f»
fnty-Flfe Onts.
Procure a dry go«xls box of a size to
fit the top of the cook stove and some
20 or 30 inches talL The taller it is
the more room for shelves. Take out
the bottom and one side, which will
make a door, and on each of the oppo
site sides nail strips of lath at the dis
tance of 3 or 4 inches as a support for
drying shelves. These should be of
galvanized wire cloth with mesh from
X to yt inch tacked to a frame of lath
or light wood just large enough to slip
into the box from the front.
Fasten at each of the four corners a
stout piece of iron to support the box
some 8 or 10 inches above the store.
This should be left open for the air to
circulate throiyh to prevent the fruit
burning. A square of mosquito netting
should bo tacked over the top to keep
out the flies and other insects when not
over the store. Hang the door with
light hinges and a strap of leather to
fasten over a nail or tack to hold the
door shut, and one has a dryer that can
easily dry a bushel of apples a day, or
more if one attends to nothing else,
and by this dryer one does not run the
risk of losing the fruit if there does
come a wet spelL For drying sweet
corn the shelves will need covering with
mosquito net. This dryer cost 1'i.74
and it might have been made cheaper
but for having to send a distance tor
wire cloth.—Azalia, in N. E. Home
TnE gmb is often the cause of the
flower plants turning yellow.
TOBACCO is a valuable insecticide
against greenhouse pests, used dry, as
smoke or in the form of decoction.
IF discarded apples are removed from
the orchard and fed to pigs or other
stock or the animals allowed to pick
them up in the orchard, many injurious
insects will be destroyed.
EXAMINE flocks of sheep and if ticks
are still found on them, destroy by dip
ping in tobacco decoction or in some of
the prepared dips, before they are con
fined in barns and sheds again.
ONE pound of paris green to 300
pounds of water, with about 15 pounds
of soft soap, is said to be good for spray
ing for the codling moth. It should be
used several times about fifteen days
HEAVY losses occur annually in the
United States from the parasitic insects
which infest animals. They can usual
ly be destroyed readily if given atten
tion at the right time. Stockmen should
learn their habits and be ready to com
bat them.
DUST white hellebore on the cabbage
plants to prevent the attacks of the
cabbage worm; or, powdered pyrethrum
can bo used and is said to be less dan
gerous. Use 1 part dry pyrethrum
to 5 or 8 of flour, or 1 ounce to 3 gallons
of water.
Convenient Yoke for Carrying Heavy
Pall* and Baskets.
In the rejfion of the Vermont and
New Hampshire sug-ar maple orchards
a convenient yoke is in use for carrying
the heavy buckets of sap. Such a yoke
is shown in the engraving, from a
sketch by W. Donnell, and may be
found very convenient upon a farm for
the carrying of heavy pails of milk,
baskets of fruit or vegetables, or other
burdens which otherwise would fall
upon the unaided arms. Two-inch
strips of ash or other pliant and tough
wood are bent and secured by a bolt
and nut at either end, these bolts secu -
ing also to the ends of two swinging
rods of iron, three-eighths of an inch in
diameter, with hooks at the ends, or a
light chain, or even a rope with a hook
at the end can be used instead of the
iron rods. Across the yoke are stretched
two bands of canvas, or webbing, four
inches wide, and secured to the wood.
If stretched completely around the yoke
the latter can be used on one fide as
well as the other. These bands rest
upon the shoulders and support the
weight of the articles being carried.
The yoke, when completed, should be
about four feet long and very liffht, yet
strongly made. American Agricul
Manuring: the Orchard.
Whether an orchard be bearing or
not a summer application of manure
rarely fails to make it more pro
ductive. If used as a top dressing there
is little loss The shade of the tree
will keey the manure from excessive
drying, and increases its value as a
mulch. If manure be applied early in
the spring it may make too large wood
growth. Stable manure for pear trees
should be applied in July or August. It
will then have time to rot before
danger of blight to the tree the follow
in# season. If put 011 in winter or
spring then the manure will be in
active fermentation just when the
danger from blight is the greatest.
While stable manure may be best ap
plied now it is better to apply n.ineral
fertilizers late in the winter or early
in spring, so that they may be dis
solved by rains and made available
during the summer.— Colman's Rural
Very Odd. Indeed.
"Jones must have made some odd
bets on the races."
"How is that?"
"Says it will take him three months
to get even." —Chicago Record
From the German.
Dull Sergeant (to recruit)—l've
told you forty times that you must
stand up as straight as if you had swal
lowed a rajnrod Instead of that you
appear to have swallowed half a dozen
Turkish scimitars.
The First After All.
See-Am I the first girl you ever pro
posed to, darling?
He but you are the
only girl who ever accepted me.—
Brooklyn Life.
An Inquest Needed#
Mother—Mrs. Binks told me that
Mrs. Winker's Jittlo boy fell into the
reservoir. Did you hear about it?
Small Son (who has heard a pood
deal of talk about the water supply)—
Yes'm; he's dead, but I don't know
whether he was drowvned or poisoned.
—Good News.
A Summer Idyl.
He—So you demand that our enfc-age
ment shall be broken, just because
you desire to flirt with that college
youth. Suppose I decline?
She (tarelessly)—Well, you'd betVer
think about it. The youth Is on the
university football team, yott knoer.—
MO 45
How to Prevtot It from B«romlnf Wot
or Kveo Damp.
A wet cellar is one of the worst ob
jects which an owner can place on hi*
farm. It Tan be of little value in any
case, and will cause disease among the
animals. It is therefore worth much
labor to make it dry. This may be
done by cutting a ditch around the
whole building, and deeper than the
bottom of the cellar. This ditch must
extend from the surface of the ground
down below the bottom of the cellar.
It must be made by removing all the
earth from the outside of the cellar
wall, so as to make it a foot or more ia
width. This ditch, being a foot or
more beiow the cellar, and having suf
ficient slant, will carry off all the water
which otherwise would soak iuto the
cellar. The accompanying figure rep
resents a cross-section of the wall and
ditch, F being the earth outside the
whole building, and E the ditch filled
from bottom to top with broken stone
or coarse gravel. It is in contact with
the cellar wall. Below the whole is a
ditch filled with broken stone and one
or two pipetiles for carrying off all the
water which runs down from the ditch
E. This bottom ditch must be wide
and deep enough to receive and convey
away all the water which otherwise
would enter the cellar. C is a heavy
flagstone on which the wall rests. The
owner will of course know proper
slant to give the ditch. The ditch E
remaining open while digging, must be
braced with heavy blocks if necessary,
to prevent the main wall from falling
till filled.—Country Gentleman.
THE prospect for a good price for
dairy products this winter seems good.
LOOSE methods or no method at all
and scrub cows make a big leak on the
THE COW that has nothing but a
burnt up pasture to feed on ought not
to be expected to yield a profit
MAKE good butter and send it to a
city market. There is no money in
selling butter at the country store.
DOES grain raising pay you? Well,
no. Then why not try dairying? That
has been found to pay when the price
of grain was much better than now.
MILK is now in disfavor with some
of the doctors for feeding infants. They
say that disease so often comes from
sickly cows that it is dangerous. Any
body who tries can get healthy milk
THE best cow bred is none too good
for the farmer who will take good care
of her. It is the farm dairy that pro
duces most of the butter and the farm
dairy should be fully equipped with all
modern improvements, including the
best cow. But the cow is only a
machine She must have good care like
any other machine, or she will wear
out before she should, and not be able
to do the work that she does do as effi
ciently as she might.—Farmers' Voice.
Novel Device for a BUo.
My plan for keeping corn has been a
success for the past four years. I have
a bay in my barn 25x35 feet with 14-
foot posts. I cut out of the center of
the bay of solid hay a hole of 15 feet,
which will leave 7 feet of solid hay on
the sides. I also leave about 2 feet of
hay in the bottom of the hole. The
hay taken from the hole can be put on
the top and around the sides, or, if a
press is handy, may be baled. I then
set boards all around the inside as close
as I can get them together and nail
them to a board put in crosswise. lam
then ready to fill. I put my corn in
whole as I think it is just as good and
a saving in the buying of machinery
for cutting. I use a horse fork for un
loading and have a man in the hole to
lay it straight, preferring tohavsit laid
lock fashion. Otherwise I proceed as
others do with regularly built silos.
The corn invariably comes out all right
and affords a cheap ensilage.—M. B.
in Farm and Home.
Sulphur for Ticks In Cows.
Speaking of the screw worm the Mis
sissippi station says that nearly one
half the cases in cattle occur when
ticks have been crushed. The great
trouble is that cattle are not kept free
from these pests. The old manner of
killing the ticks by the application of
kerosene, sulphur or tobacco requires
more time than the average stock raiser
can give, and when the ticks are de
stroyed in this way it is but a short
time before they are again abundant
The method of combating with ticks
practiced by this station is by feeding
sulphur with the bait. A covered
trough is made in one corner of the
pasture, and in this is kept a quantity
of sulphur and salt, about half and half.
When the supply is nearly exhausted
the trough is refilled and thus the cat
tle can get it whenever they may wish.
Some claim this will cause rheumatism
during wet weather, but no such re
sults have ever been noticed, and when
thus given the sulphur will keep the
cattle free from the ticks.
WitUerby (visiting Ilankington at
his home in New Jersey)—hat is that
strange animal you have hitched to
your buggy?
Plankington—That's a thoroughbred
mosquito mare, old man I couldn t
afford a horse. —Judge.
Spoiled Their I'leasure.
Mrs. Tittle—Did you have a irood
time at the sewing circle this after
Mrs. Tattle —No, a miserable time; it
was awfully dull.
Mrs. Tittle —Wasn't anything said
about how Mrs. Blazer has been carry
ing on?
Mrs. Tattle—No; she was mean
enough to be there herself, and of
course the pleasure we hid all looked
forward to was spoiled. Strange how
people can be so selfish. —Boston Tran