VOL xxxvii HUSELTON'S Spring Footwear The Very Finest Shoes Ever Shown in Butler for Men. Women and Children. Every New Idea Women's Fine Shoes, That has merit in it as to style, ' Lace or button at 85c, $1,51.25 comfort and service in footwear and $1.50 —up to the minute develops in this store. in style. Women's Shoes Business Shoes. made especially to our order; Stylish footwear for business dainty in appearance, of sub- men; tan bcx and Russia calf, stantial service and full of style fine vici kids, velour calf, pat as to shape of heel and toe, $2, ent calf that have ease and $2.50, $3.00 and $3.50 in Tan,comfort as well as wear in them kid and Russia calf, black kid' at $2, $2.50, $3 and $3.50. skin and patent leather. Men's Patent Leather. Our Girls Shoes Full dress affairs at $2.50, in ta.i and black, lace or but-; $3 50. $4 and ss,that vou must ton kid shoes, sizes 11 Ato2, at have to be well dressed; shoes 75c, sl, $1.25 and $1.50; 8.3 that go into the very best soci to 11, at 50c, 75, $1 and $1.25; ety and fee! at home there. 6 to 8 at 40c, 50c, 75c and si. Men's Working Shoes Shoes for Boys, in oil grain and heavy veal, Including patent leather, vici two sole and tap bellus tongue, kid, tan and Russia calf, sizes atsi. $1 25 and $1.50; Box 2.j to SA, at 90c, Si.OO, $1.25, toe at $1 50. $2 and $2.50; ir. $1.50 and $2.00. fine satins for dress at SI.OO, $1.25 and We are sole agents for the famous "Queen Quality" Shoes for Women, of this city, B. C. HUSELTON'S, Butler'* LfiiidlnK Shoe flouse. Opposite Hotel Lwry. BICKEL'S AND SUMMER STYLES.% The time of "the year is here when yoj want a nice pair of dress shoes for summer wear. Our stuck is extrcmly large, showing all the latest styles in fine shoes and oxfords in all leathers. We are offering some big values in footwear and it will pay you to sec us before buying your summer shoes. A FEW OF OUR PRICES Men's Fine Tan Shoes— 1 »>() Light shade, Lace or Congress at.. 'W Boy's Fme Dress Shoes— fIA Box, Calf or line Vici Kid, light or heavy soles.. ™ 1 * Youth's Fine Calf or Vici Kid Shoes— Q/) Either Russett or Black at.. Ladies' Fine Dongola and Russett Shoes 4J.I Lace or Congress, latest styles lasts at.. •"* ' Misses' Fine Dongola and Russett Shoes— (» (4 Spring heels at.. Children's Fine Shoes I'atent Tipped, sizes five to eight at.. Men's and Boy's Lawn Tennis Shoes— l( And Slippers at.. Your Choice of Men's Working Shoes— i | n n Lace, Buckle or Congress, heavy soles and good uppers at ™ ' Men's Fine Calf Dress Shoes— &1 (')() Round toe, tipped at.. ™ Ladies' Fine Dongola Three Point Slippers - 35(* We invite you to call and see our stock of SOROSIS SHOES and Oxfords,the latest styles for summer wear. They are very hand some You will like them. All sizes—2\ to 8. All widths—AAA to E. JOHN BICKEL, 128 SOUTH MAIN STRKET, - - BUTLER, PA Spring STYLES it, fyw "3 t Men don't buy clothing for the pur-f?." Itil 1 i/ I A tpose or spending money. They I Ju if 7no get the best jHjssib'.e results for thcTjJ f •'i 7 Cmoncy expended. Not cheap goodsTK" / ili'l / jfiv I A jtbut goods as clieip as they can 7 T*ol."> " 'J .'JO " New (buttle AiCouuiKxlatiou Ho.'» " 9 07 u Akron Moil 8 0"> a m 7 03 p m AIJ.-K'lHfiiy VnHt Kxpreen 0 6R " 12 1H 41 Al!«*fehuuy Kxpret* iW) p.m 4 4*» pm Chicago Kxpretw 3 40 pin 12 1H am Ail " 7 <»:; " ('lticaK* Limite«l /» . r »«) u 9 *,<) f.m 5 <•:'» p.m New Ca*tln Ac< omtnolation 8 <»."» a.m 7 if>l " r'fiicago Kxprewi 340 p.m SIW am Allegheny Accomni'jilatioo 7 03 pm Train arriving at 5X*3 p.m. !-aven li. it <» I'ittMhurg at > p.m and J*. A W., Allegheny at 3J15 p. in. On Satuidayi a traiu, known ax the theatre train, will leavfi Butler at .O.flO p. m., arriving at Allegheny at returning leave Allegheny at 11.30 p. m. Pnl I man sleeping cam on all pointu in the went, north went or Mouth wont and information regarding route«, time of traiiiN, eU . apply to W. K. TURNKII, Ticket Agent, K. B. IthYNoLDM, Kup't, N. I>., Hutler, l»a. Butler, I'a. O. W. RAK.SKTT, (i. P. A.. Allegheny, Pa II O Dt'NKI.K, Hup't. W AL. Div.. Allegheny I'a. PENNSYLVANIA WFSTEkN PENNSYLVANIA DIVISION. iii ocLK in Rrrtujt Nov. 20, 18ftfi SOUTH. WKEK I>AY.H , A. M A. M. A. M P. M P. M BUTLEB Leave L 26 H 05 10 M> z :s.', U ofi Haxonhnrg Arrive 6(A 8 :H) !I 15 00 628 IJntler Junction.. " 7 27 rt U II 40 :i 25 6 6li Hutler Junction. ..Leave! 7 :J1 Ms3l| 5i \25 5 U.\ Natrona Arrive 7 4<» 'J 01 12 Ol '.I '.'A ft iri Tarentum. . (7 41 907 12 08 3 42 ft u7 hpringAYH A. M A. M. A. M. P. M P. M Allegheny CJty . ..leave 700 h 55 10 46 3 lo ft 10 SliarjiHhurg. 7 1- 9 07 10 57 hpriiiK'hile 11 li <, .17 Tarentum 7 :;7 9 ;1 II um 4ft «» 4ft Natrona 7 41 u 3* II 31 ;; 50 ft 61 Butler Junction. .arriv« 7 4- 947 II l ; :i 5e 7 ot» liutier Junction.. . .leave 7 \t 47 12 I- 4 Oft 7 00 .Saxouleirg 8 15 10 09 12 41 4 35 7 24 BUTLEB .. .arrive 8 4o 10 32 1 lo fi 06 7 50 A. M A.M. P. 51 P. ffl.j P. M HUM DAY TRAINS.— Leave Allegheny < ity for But ler ami priuci|*nl intermediate Mtationx at 7:16 a m. and 9 IVJ p at. roB THE EAST. Week* I>a\ Sell.! nr C •• hsl 12 4'» 6oh u%\ uO9 Blairnvilh- „ 922 I 2o 641 9 6'i U4O HlairNville lut " 9 :jo | 660 lo oo ... Altooua M 11 35 545 HSO 545 HariiMl.urg *' :i KijlO Oo I i*» 10 00 P. M.J A. M. iA. M. A. M. P M Through trainM fcr the eioit leave Pitt>l uffet Mleep«r; no coat ten 7.'Hi •• KaMteru KxpreMM, ' 7:10 44 Kant Line, • .8 30 " PittMhurg Limits!, daily, with tlirough com he« to N'. w York, ami-le. |,itijc «;m»t to r< w York, Baltimore and Wanhiugtou only. No extra fare on thlM train 10:00 ,4 1 hllad'a Mail, Sundat * oiuy H. 40 a.m Vnr Atlantic City (via Ik- da ware River Bridge, all rail route), 8;00 A M, and * Hi P.M, daily For detailed Information, addremi Th«ai. K. Watt, Paw. Agt. Wcfltern Corner Fifth Avenue and Smith fti ld Stre. t, PittMhurg, Pa. J B, lll 'l'Cll ISON, I. R >\ or»I> ieueral Manager. p make our dream tally with facts. The plory of a dream Is this—that It despises facts and makes its own. Our dream saves us from going mad. That is enough. Its [(eculiar point of sweetness lay here. When the Mighty Heart's yearn ing of love became too great for other expression It shaped itself into the sweet Rose of heaven, the beloved Man god. Jesus, you Jesus of our dream, how we loved yon! No I.ilile tells of you as we knew y..u. Your sweet hands held ours fast. Your sweet voice said al ways "I am here, my loved one, not far off. I'ut your arms about me and hold fast." We find him in everything in those days. When the little weary lamb we drive home dr:::r- its feet, we seize on It and carry il with its head against our face Ills little lamb! We feel we have got him. When the drunken Katlir lies by the road in the sun. we draw his blanket over his head and Jutt green branches of milk bush on it. His Kaffir -why should ilie sun hurt him? In the evening, when the clouds lift themselves like gates and the red lights shine through them, we cry; for in such glory he will come, and the hands that ache to touch him will hold him. and we shrill see the beautiful hair and eyes of our (Sod. "Lift up your heads, ye gates, and be ye lifted up. ye everlasting doors, and our King of glory shall come in!" The purple flowers, the little purple flowers, are his eyes, looking at us. We kiss them aud kneel alone on the flat, rejoicing over them. And the wilder ness aud the solitary place shall be glad for him. and the desert shall re Joiee and blc som as a rose. If ever In our tearful, joyful ecstasy the poor sleepy, half dead devil should rait-e his head. Ave laugh at him. It is not his hour now. "If there should be a hell, after all!'* he mutters. "If your God should be •ruel! If there should lie no God! If yoti should find out it is ail imagina tion! Ir- We laugh at him. When a man sits In the warm sunshine, do you ask him for proof of it? He feels; that Is all. And we feel; that is all. We want uo proof of our God. We feel, we feel! We do not believe in our God because the Bible tells us of him. We believe in the Bible because he tells us of it. We feel him, we feel him, we feel; that Is all. And the poor half swamped devil mutters: "But If the day should come when you do not feel?" And we laugh and cry him down. "It will never come never!" And the poor devil slinks to sleep again with Ills tail between Ids legs. Fierce assertion many times repeated is hard to stand against. Only time separates the truth from the lie. So we dream One day we go with oir father to town, to church. The t; v. nspcople rus tle In tiieh silks and t•_»«• men in their sleek cloth and settle themselves In their pews, and the light shines in through the wludows on the artificial flowers iu the women's bonnets. We have the same miserable feeling that we have In a shop where all the clerks are very smart. We wish our father hadn't brought us to town and we were out on the "karroo." Then the man in the pulpit begins to preach. Ills text Is, "lie that belleveth not shall be damned." The day before the magistrate's clerk, who was an atheist, has died in the street, struck by lightning. The man in the pulpit mentions no name, but. he talks of "the hand of God made visible among us." He tells us how, when the white stroke fell, quivering and naked, tin* soul lied, rob bed of his earthly filament, and lay at the footstool of God; how over Its head lias been poured out the wrath of the Mighty One, whose existence It has dented, and, quivering and terrified, It has fled to the everlasting shade. We, as we listen, half start up. Ev ery drop of blood In our bcOy hou rush ed to our head. He lies, he ftes, he lies! That man iu the pulpit lies! Will no one stop him? Have none of them heard, do none of them know, that when the poor dark soul shut Its eyes on earth It opened them In the still light of heaven; that there Is no wrath where God's face Is; that If one could once creep to the footstool of God there Is everlasting peace there, like the fresh stillness of the early morning? While the atheist lay wondering and afraid God bent down and said: "My child, here I am I, whom you have not known; I, whom you have not be lieved In. I am here. I sent my mes senger, the white sheet lightning, to '•all you home. I am here." Then the poor soul turned to the light. Its weakness and pain were gone for ever. Have they not known, have they not heard, who It Is rules? "For a little moment have 1 hidden my face from thee, but with everlast ing kindness will I have mercy upon thee, saltli the Lord thy Redeemer." We mutter on to our elves till some one pulls us violently by the arm to re mind us we are Iu church. We see nothing but our own Ideas. Pre ently every one turns to pray. There are mm souls lining themselves to the Everlasting Light. Itehlml iim «li iv.t* ? fi* more of the singing than the Everlast ing Father. Oh, would it not be more worship of him to sit alone in the "kar roo" aud kiss one little purple flower that he had made? Is it not mockery? Then the thought comes, "What doest thou here, Elijah?" We who judge— what are we better than they? Rather worse. Is it any excuse to say. "I am but a child and must come?" Does God allow any soul to step in between the spirit he made and himself? What do we there In that place where all the words are lies against the All Fa ther? Killed with horror, we turn and flee out of the place. On the pavement we smite our foot and swear In our child's soul never again to enter those places where men come to sing and pray. We are questioned afterward. Why was it we went out of the church? llow can we explain? We stand silent. Then we are pressed further, and we try to tell. Then a head is shaken solemnly at us. No one can think it wrong to go to the house of the Lord. It is the idle excuse of a wicked boy.. When will we think seriously of our souls and love going to church? We are wicked, very wicked. And we —we slink away and go alone to cry. Will it be always so? Whether we hate and doubt or whether we believe and love, to our dearest are we to seem always wicked? We do not yet know that in the soul's search for truth the bitterness lies here —the striving cannot always hide it self among the thoughts. Sooner or later it will clothe itself in outward aclion. Then it steps in and divides between the soul and what it loves. All things on eartli have their price, and for truth we pay the dearest. We barter It for love and sympathy. The road to honor is paved with thorns, but on the path to truth, at every step you set your foot down on your own heart. vi.' Then at last a new time —the time of waking, short, sharp and not pleasant, as wakings often are. Sleep and dreams exist on this con dition—that no one wake the dreamer. And now life takes us up between her finger and thumb, shakes us furi ously till our poor nodding head is well nigh rolled from our shoulders, and she sets us down a little hardly ou the bare earth, bruised and sore, but preter uaturally wide awake. We have said in our days of dream hg: "Injustice and wrong are a seem ing. I'ain is a shadow. Our God, he Is real, he who made all things, ami he only is love." Now life takes us by the neck and shows us a few other things newmade graves with the red sand flying about them, eyes that we love with the worms eating them, evil men walkin", sleek and fat. the whole terrible burly burly of the thing called life—and she says, "What do you think of these?" We dare not say "Nothing." We feel them They are very real. IJut we try to lay our hands about and feel that other thing we felt before. In tlie dark night in the fuel room we cry to our beautiful dream god: "Oh, let us come near you and lay our head against your feet. Now In our hour of need be near us." Rut he Is not there. Tie is gone away. The old questioning devil is there. We must have been awakened sooner or later. The imagination cannot al ways triumph over reality, the desire over truth. We must have been awak ened. If It was done a little sharply, what matter? It was done thorough ly, and It had to be done. VII. And a new life begins for us, a new time, a life as cold as that of a man who sits on the pinnacle of an Iceberg and sees the glittering crystals all about him. The old looks indeed like a long, hot delirium, peopled with phantasies. The new Is cold enough. Now we have uo God. We have had two the old God that our fathers handed down to us, that we hated and never liked; the new One that we made for ourselves, that we loved. But now ho has flitted away from us, and we see what he was made of—the shadow of our highest ideal, crowned and throned. Now we have no God. "The fool hath said In his heart, Then; Is no God." it may be m>. Most things said or written have l>«m the work of fools. This tiling Is certain he Is a fool who says, "No man hath said in his heart. There Is no God." It has been said many thousand times In hearts with profound bitter ness of earnest faith. We do not cry and weep. We sit down with cold eyes and look at the world. We are not miserable. Why should we be? We eat and drink and sleep all night, but the dead are not colder. And we say It slowly, but without sighing: "Yes; we see It now. There is no God." And, we add, growing a little colder yet: "There Is no Justice. The ox dies in the yoke beneath its master's whip. It turns Its anguish tilled eyes on the sunlight, but there is no sign of recom pense; to be made It. The black man is shot like a dog, aud it goes well with the shooter. The Innocent are accused, and the accuser triumphs. If you will take the trouble to scratch the surface anywhere, you will see under the skin a sentient being writhing In Impotent anguish." And, we say further, and our heart Is as tin; heart of the dead for coldness: "There Is no order. All things are driven about by a blind chance." What a soul drinks in with Its moth er's milk will not leave It In a day. From our earliest hour we have been taught that the thought of the heart, the shaping of the raincloud, the amount of wool that grows on a sheep's back, the length of a draft and the growing of the corn depend on nothing that moves immutable, at the heart of all things; but oil the changeable will of a changeable being whom our prayers can alter. To us, from the beginning, nature lias been but a poor, plastic thing, to lie toyed with this way or that, as man happens to please Ids deity or not, to go to church or not, to say ids prayers right or not, to travel on a Sunday or not. Was It possible for IIM In an instant to Mee nature an she Is the flowing vest ment of an unchanging reality? When a soul bleaks free from the arms of a superstition, hits of the claws ami talons break themselves off In him. It Is not the work of a ilay to squeeze them out. And s<», for us, the humanlike driver an-l guide !>• ug gone, all existence, as we look out at It with our chilled, won deriug eyes, N an aimless rise and swell of shifting waters. In all that weltering chaos we can see uo spot so larjro as a man's hand on which we may plant our foot. Whether a uiau believes iu a human like God or uo is a small thing. Wheth er he looks into the mental and phys ical world and sees uo relation be tween cause and effect, no order but a blind chance sporting, this is the mightiest fact that can be recorded in any spiritual existence. It were al most a mercy to cut his throat, if in deed he does not do it for himself. We, however, do not cut our throats. To do so would imply some desire and feeling, and we have no desire and uo feeling. We are only cold. We do not wish to live, and we do not wish to die. One day a snake curls itself round the waist of a Kaffir woman. We take it in our hand, swing it round and round and fling it on the ground—dead. Ev ery one looks at us with eyes of admi ration. We almost laugh. Is it wonder ful to risk that for which we care I nothing? In truth, nothing matters. This dirty I little world full of confusion. fnd tiie 1.1 ut- rag stretched overhead for a sky is so low we could touch it with our hand. Existence is a great pot. and the old fate who stirs it round cares nothing what rises to the top and what goes down and laughs when the bubbles burst. And we do not care. Let it boil about. Why should we trouble ourselves? Nevertheless the physical sensations are real. Hunger hurts, and thirst; therefore we eat and dritik. In action pains us; therefore we work like galley slaves. No one demands it, but we set ourselves to build a great dam Ln red sand beyond the graves. In the gray dawn before the sheep are let out we work at It. All day, while the young ostriches we tend feed about us. we work on through the fiercest heat. The people wonder what new spirit has seized us now. They do not know we are working for life. We bear the greatest stones and feel a satisfaction when we stagger under them and are hurt by a pang that shoots through our chest. While we eat our dinner we carry on baskets full of earth, as though the devil drove us. The Kaliir servants have a story that at night a witch and two white oxen come to help us. No wall, they Bay, could grow so quickly under one man's hands. At night, alone in our cabin, we sit no more brooding over the fire.' What should we think of now? All Is empti ness. So we take the old arithmetic, and the multiplication table, which with so much pains we learned long ago and forgot directly, we learn now in a few hours and never forget again. We take a strange satisfaction in working arithmetical problems. We pause in our building to cover the stones with figures and calculations. We save money tor a Latin grammar and an algebra and carry them about in our pockets, poring over them as over our IJible of old. We have thouglft we were utterly stupid. Incapable of remembering anything, of learning anything. Now we find that all is easy. Has a new soul crept into this old body, that even our Intellectual faculties are changed? We marvel, not perceiving that what a man ex pends in prayer and ecstasy he cannot have over for acquiring knowledge. You never shed a tear or create a beautiful Image or quiver with emo tion but you pay for It at the practical, calculating end of your nature. You have just so much force. When the one channel runs over, the other runs dry. And now we turn to NatuKu. All these years we have lived beside her, and we have never seen her. Now we open our eyes and look at her. The rocks have been to us a blur of brown. We bend over them, and tho disorganized masses dissolve Into a many colored, many shaped, carefully arranged form of existence, here mass es of rainbow tinted crystals half fused together, there bands of smooth gray and red methodically overlying each other. This rock here Is covered with a delicate silver tracery, ln some mineral resembling leaves and branch es. There on the fiat stone, on which we so often have sat to weep and pray, we look down and see it covered with the fossil footprints ofr great birds and the beautiful skeleton of a flsli. We have often tried to picture in our mind what the fossiled remains of creatures must be like, and all the while we sat on them. We have been so blinded by thinking and feeling that we have nev er seen the world. The fiat plain lias been to us a reach of monotonous red. Wo look at It, and every handful of sand starts Into life. That wonderful people, the ants, we learn to know; see them make war and peace, play and work, and build their huge palaces. And that smaller people we make acquaintance with who live In the llowers. Tlie bltto flower has been for us a mere blur of yellow. Wo find Its heart composed of a hun dred perfect flowers, th® homes of the tiny black people with red stripes, who move In and out In that little yellow city. Every bluebell has Its Inhabitant. Every day the "karroo" shows us a new wonder sleeping In Its teeming boson.. On our way to work we pause and stand to see the ground spider make Its trap, bury itself In the sand and then wait for tlie falling In of Its enemy, farther on walks a horned beetle, and near him starts open the door of a spider, who peeps out care fully and quickly pulls it down again. On a "karroo" bush a green lly Is lay ing her silver eggs. We carry tbem home and see the shells pierced, the spotted grub come out, turn to a green lly and tilt away. We are not satisfied with what Na ture shows us and will see something for ourselves. Under the white hen we put a dozen eggs and break one dally to see the white spot wax Into tho chicken. We are not excited or enthusiastic about it. Hut a man is not to lay his throat open, lie must think of something. So we plant seeds in rows on our dam wall and pull one up daily to see how it goes with them. AUadeen burled her wonderful stone, and a golden palace sprang up at her feet. We do far more. We put u brown seed In the earth, and a living thing starts out—starts upward—why, no more than AUadeen can we say— starts upward, and does not desist till it is higher than our heads, sparkling with dew ln tlie early morning, glitter ing with yellow blossoms, shaking brown seeds with little embryo souls oti to tho ground. We look at It sol emnly from the time It consists of two leaves peeping above the ground and a soft white root till we have to raise our fact's to look at it, but we find no reason for that upward starting. We look Into tlie dead ducks and lambs, in the evening we carry them home, spread newspapers on the lloor and lie working with them till mid night. With a startled feeling near akin to ecstasy we open tlie lump of Uesh failed a heart and find little doom find strings inside We feel tiiein and put the heart away, but every now and then return to look and to feel them ...... in w'bv we like them so we can hardly tell. A gander drowns itself in our dam. We take it out and open it on the bank and kneel, looking at it. Above are tlie organs divided by delicate tissues; below are the intestines artistically i curved in spiral form and each tier covered by a delicate network of blood vessels standing out red ag sfast the faint blue background. Each branch of the blood vessels is comprised of a trunk, bifurcating and rebifurcating into tlie most delicate hairlike threads, symmetrically arranged. We are struck with its singular beauty. And, moreover (and here we drop from our kneeling into a sitting posture), this also we remark —of that same exact I shape and outline is our thorn tree , seen against the sky in midwinter; of that shape also is delicate metallic ! tracery between our rocks; in that exact path does our water flow when : without a ftirrow we lead it from the j dam; so.shaped are the antlers of the ; horned beetle. How are these things j related that such deep union should exist between them all? Is it chance, ! or arc they not all the fine branches of «ne trunk, whose sap flows through us all? That would explain it. We nod over the gander's inside. This thing we call existence. Is it not a something which has its roots far down below in the dark and its 1 branches stretching out into the im mensity above which we among the branches cannot see? Not a chance jumble, a living thing, a One. The | thought gives us intense satisfaction. We cannot tell why. We nod over the gander, then start up suddenly, look into the blue sky, ! throw the dead gander and the refuse j into the dam and go to work again. | And so it comes to pass in time that j the earth ceases for us to be a welter j ing chaos. We walk in the great hall J of life, looking up and round reveren- I tially. Nothing is despicable; all is meaning full. Nothing is small; all is part of a whole whose beginning and end we know not. The life that throbs in us is a pulsation from it, too mighty for our comprehension, not tno small. And so it comes to pass at last that, whereas the sky was at first a small blue rag stretched out over us and so low that our hands might touch it, pressing down on us, it raises Itself into an immeasurable blue arch over our heads, and we begin to live again. [TO BE CONTrXCED.) Tliat Srciti* to lie? the Proper Caper on CiiKlinh Ilitllnuya. "No American can ever travel on tlio railways of Englund in comfort," said tlie New Yorker, who had crossed tho Atlantic a score of times. "In the first place you've got to play hog If you get a compartment by yourself, and in the next it's an even question whether you get your baggage at the end of your Journey. Everything Is piled upon the platform, and every passen ger must pick out his own. If you are two minutes late, there Is nothing to prevent somebody claiming your bag gage. I never arrived at a terminus without witnessing a big row between passengers, and I never talked with a fellow passenger who had not lost trunk or satchel at some time or other. In three months of traveling about I saw my truuk claimed by others at least 20 times for assaulting the porters. Tills 'assault' consisted solely in abusing tho railroad companies about the baggage system. I dually got so mad about tho thing that I spent two days in securing an interview with a railway magnate at his otllcc In Lou don. I straightway usked liiiu if he had never heard of a baggage check. •"I have, sir,' he replied. " 'Don't you think It a good sys tem T " 'I do, sir.' " 'Then why don't you adopt It?' " 'Because It's a Yankee Idea, sir!' "I told him It was also a Yankee Idea to eat oysters and asked him why he followed suit, and ho was as serious as a Judge as he replied: " 'uli, but that's different, you know. You Yankees swallow your oysters whole, while wo always halve and sometimes quarter them!'Exchuuge. A mind Mnn'm Cnlctilallon. When Gauss became blind, Ills only amusement consisted in making calcu lations of a curious and somewhat pe culiar nature. These sometimes lasted for days. When more than 80 years old, Gauss computed tho amount to which .$1 would grow If compounded annually at 4 per cent Interest from the time of Adam to the present, as suming tills to be 0,000 years. This, If In gold, would make a cubic mass so large that It would take a ray of light traveling almost 2,000 miles a second more than 1,000,000,000 years to Jour ney alongside of It. This mental com putation is so startling as to be almost beyond belief, yet the conclusions of this eminent mathematician ure cor rect.—St Louis Globe-Deiuocrat. "Poor Exon»e," Ktc. "That Slims Is the most resourceful fellow you ever saw. His girl has a pretty cousin stopping with her, and he told his particular that ho had hired an orchestra to serenade them Thurs day night. As he had done nothiug of the kind and forgot all about it, uud as (flie hail made arrangements to treat the serenaders, Slims caught it hot ami heavy when ho next called, llow do you suppose ihe rascal squared him self?" "Haven't the slightest Idea." "Told the girl that the orchestra struck on hltn because she sang in church and didn't belong to the union." Free l'ress. fHE TRIALS OF JERE TATE. ' Now there wan Jereyilah Tate, j Whose lot was one to commiserate. In (Rtlitica 'twas ever life fate To root for tlie losing candidate. Whenever he tried to speculate He hold the »ark, and he paid the freight. At train* he wat always a minute late, Jf he went a lulling he lout his halt, If ahk«*d to a play he forgot the date, Hi* < lotIH H wore out at a terrible rate. He never could get his necktie straight, lie forgot Ids taxes to liquidate Till the coat took all his small estate, Thieves carried away his silver plate, He trusted friend* who proved ingrale, And they hroke up Jeremiah Tate. When he fell in love, he was always crowed, Aii'l i l l i ne 1M sit (Miihnyi kMt By his bedroom window every night The neighborhood cats all met to light. If moved to take a spin on the pike. Home thief would he sure to steal his hike. Itot lN came on Ida tieek twice every year. And i H toet bl i burlflf ta mm m, Thin more and more unfortunate Became poor Jeremiah Tate. Weary at hint of the ceaseless strife Be re lived to UO by any one who wishes such an ornamcut. Then there were genuine skulls and skeletons. The French excel us also In the preparation of human bones for the market. An articulated skull of American workmanship would cost $9. A skull of French articulation was priced at |2B, aud the work was admirable. All the most delicate little bones were carefully preserved and ar ranged, and It was subdivided Into many small partß, held together with tiny brass hinges. The top of the skull was sawed evenly off, so as to form a sort of cap, but the other openings seemed Irregular and dovetailed. This was explained thus: "Do you know how they separate a skull into Its various parts? Well, they pack It full of sawdust, which they theu wet. The sawdust expands aud bursts the skull apart along Its natural joinings or sutures. These are theu hinged and wired, as you sec. It all requires most delicate manipula tion by an expert. Tramoud of Paris Is the lending artist In skulls and bones. The business of modeling these pnpler maclie organs and of articulat ing bones Is not au overcrowded one, as there Is uot a large demand for such things. Schools and colleges are the chief buyers of the articles. There are precious few students, as you may Imagine, who can afford to Invest so much money In models for prirato study." Any hearts and lungs aud livers that come to this country other than by way of the barge office. It may be add ed, must pay 40 per cent duty to Undo Sam.—New York Commercial Adver tiser. A Remedy For Sciatica. Ilerc Is a really old fashioned reme dy. It Is a grandmother's remedy, and the grandmother who believes In It Is alive and recommends It personal ly. It Is for sciatica. Take equal parts of flour and red pepper and mix with vinegar. Make a paste of It and move it from place to place with the pain. "And If that does not help you theu I am mistaken," concludes the graudmother. New York Times. Mindly Expressed. Pusher—o usher Is not very happy In his choice of adjectives. Usher—Why so? Pusher— Miss Gumma fished for n compliment by asking him wtot ho thought of her slippers. Usher—And what did he say? Pusher—He said they were Immense. . —Collier's Weekly. Geese are the emblems of conjugal bliss In China, aud a pair of geese aro considered a handsome present from a gentleman to the lady of his choice. Bill I see a new law in Missouti compels barbers to undergo an exam ination before they are licensed t« practice the tonsorlal art. Jill-Is It au examination In elocu tion, do you suppose?—Yonkers States man. Miiilc For the I*l *©e. i While traveling In a coal mine dis trict, says Dr. Cuyler, I noticed how very dingy the towu appeared. The coal dust seemed to blacken buildings, trees, shrubs, everything, but as a foreman and 1 were walking near tho mines 1 noticed a beautiful white flow er. Its petals were as pure as If it j Were blooming In a daisy field. "What care the owner of this plant ( must take of It," said I, "to keep It so free from dust and dirt!" "See here," said the foreman, and f taking up a handful of coal dust threw It over the flower. It Immediately fell off and left the flower as stainless as : before. "It has an enamel," the foreinau ex- . plained, "which prevents any dust j from clinging to It. I think It must ( have Urn created for Just such a place." J; i . . 1 . SINCE THREE'S A CROWD. * To parks and plays she's gone with ma For eighteen months or more; I've found her beat of company In trips asea, ashore. And yet of love she's never framed 1 A word for me. I'll own. i Yet for this lack she can't be blamed— . I She's Dolly's ciapcroae. I . . She never views in listless uay i / t J At tluui-r shows the prize; She quite appreciates a play— You sec that in her eyes. * tier sphere of action's limited. The es'i.rt's not her own. But unobtrusive, be it said. Is Dolly's chapcrone. 1 She's twenty-five if she i a day. And Doliv's but nineteen; * Her eyes are blue and Dolly's gray— ) Blue eyes are true, 1 ween. Since "three's a crowd" 1 think, mayhap, I'll woo a maid alone; I've half a mind to set my cap For Dolly's chapcrone. —Roy Farrell Greene in Detroit Free Pre«. HAD A TENDER HEART. 1 An Incident of Lord I.atvrencc'a Sen j i \ malic to India. Lord Lawrence, viceroy of India, . was a blunt man of action, impatient t of contradiction aud thorougkly self reliant. Yet, like mauy of th« truly great, he had a heart as tender as a , woman's. The night on which he started from London to govern India he gathered all his family in the draw ing room and made each child repeat a favorite hymn to him. His youugest son, 10 years old. nestled in his fa ther's arms. Suddeuly the strong man I burst into tears. "I shall never," he cried, "see Bertie a child again!" It was uot of the hardships before him or of his own death lie thought, but of the fact that Bertie would not be a child to him on his return. On board the steamer with the gov ernor general of India was a lady with her infant child. She neglected the baby, which revenged Itself by crying day and night. The passengers com plained in language more forcible than polite. "Steward, throw that baby over board!" was petulantly shouted from sleepless berths. At last Lord Lawrence, seeing that the child was left motherless by its own mother, took it 011 his knee. For hours he would hold It, showing It his watch and anything that would amuse It. The child took to the great, strong man and was always quiet when he held It. "Why do you, my lord," asked one of the relieved passengers, surprised to see the goveruor general of India playing nurse to a crying baby, "why do you take such notice of that child?" "Because, to tell you the truth," an swered Lord Ijiwrence, with a merry twinkle in his eye, "that child Is the only being In the ship who I can feel quite sure does uot want to get any thing out of me."—Pastimes. Stocklnu Superstitions. On the Welsh border It used to be considered that the surest precaution against witchcraft was to wear the left stocking wrong side out. This leads us to another kind of superstition connected with the harmless, necessary hose—their value, when properly worn or arranged, as charms or as protec tions against sickness or pain. If you will only take the trouble when you go to bed to cross your stockings aud shoes, you will be quite safe from the grip of cramp. Again, If you hang your stockings crosswise at the foot of the bed, with a pin stuck in them, you need have no fear of nightmare; the hag has a holy horror of cross and pin. Wiseacres have also been heard to de clare that If you will always put your left stocking and shoe on first you will enjoy Immunity from toothache. This, however, the most superstitious of mor tals will likely take leave to doubt. Toothache, that "hell of a' diseases," as Burns calls it, Is no respecter of per sons nor assuredly of stockings or legs. —Notes aud Queries. E