BABY'S WISDOM.
When mother wakes Yet baby's eyes
Her babe and breaks Make irlad r«nitAa
The silence with her speeeh, , And baby'? tiny hands'
r>2 w ° r( i of Applausive move
Despite my wit. To deftlv prove
Doth my awed reason reach. How baby understands.
Choctaw and Greek And though my store
And verbal freak Ol lingual lore
Of languages long dead Is my chief boasts among.
Thi r I*,®', I'he facts disclose
The wide world o'er. That baby knows
Such barren nonsense shed. More of the mother tongue.
—Richmond Dispatch.
A A JC- A
An Old Maid's Love Affair. P
J nv JAMSS BrOKFtAM. F
irWVVVTVVVVWWVVW WV V VVT 4
A child crying down in the swamp
—what could it aean? Miss Abigail
Drew stopped and set down the heavy
basket of lunch she was carrying to
tho men in the havfield. It surely
was a child's cry and a baby's, too!
How it stirred the chords of her lone
ly, longing heartl Miss Abigail loved
children with a passionate, yearning
love, and yet it had been years since
she had even heard a baby cry. Liv
ing alone with her brother and his oc
casional help on that remote farm, all
social lelationships, all neighborly
amenities and delights were almost
entirely denied her. And above all
things she missed and longed for the
sunny presence of children. She felt
that,if she only had a child to care for,
her barren, empty life would overflow
with joy and purpose. The days,now
so sad and meaningless, would be so
rich and .blessed then! Ah! there is
nothing like the infinite aching of the
mother-heart in a childless breast.
Therefore, that child-cry, floating
np from the swamp, was heavenly
music to tho heart of Miss Abigail
Drew. She clasped her hands and lis
tened, her whole being absorbed in
the associations connected with the
sound. Suddenly her heart surged
into her throat, and she caught her
breath with the thought that rushed
across her mind what if a baby had
been left in the swamp deserted—!
And what if she should be the one to
find it and take it home, and, oh, what
if nobody should ever come to claim
it! The wistful face of the woman
paled and flushed and flushed and
paled in swift succession as her heart
brooded upon this wonderful possibil
ity. At length, with a little cry that
was all a prayer, she sprang toward
the swamp,leaving the basket of lunch
under the blaze of the July sun.
When she emerged from the thick,
low woods at the bottom of the pas
ture, her dress was torn and her face
scratched and streaming with perspi
ration, but the rapture and triumph that
shone in her eyes, as she looked down
upon a bundle strained to her breast,
showed that life for her had suddenly
been liftedabove all ordinary conditions
and considerations and that she was
only conscious of walking upon such
roseate air as tho old painters limned
beneath the feet of their exalted Ma
donnas. A little face peeped out from
the ragged shawl that wrapped Miss
Abigail's precious burden, but the
plaintive cry had ceased, and the blue
eyes of the little foundling were gaz
ing up into those "two springs of lim
pid love" that shone above them.
Nathan Drew and his two hired men
were waiting impatiently under the
shadow of a big elm tree when their
breathless provider finally arrived
with the basket of lunch and that
strange bundle upon her left arm. It
was long past noon, and Nathan Drew
was fretting and fuming at his sister's
unaccountable delay.
"What in 'tarnel kept you so long?"
he demanded, as the panting woman
dropped the basket under the shadow
of theelm. "Arid,for goodness' sake,
what ye got in yer arms?"
"A baby, Nathan!" replied his sis
ter, in a voice full of soft, reverential
joy. "A poor little baby that was
left in the swamp. I heard it crying
and went to fiud it, and that's what
made me so late."
"Humph!" said Nathan Drew,taking
the covering from the basket and in
specting its contents. "What be ye
goin' to do with it?"
A cloud swept across the radiant
face of the woman. There was some
thing distinctly forbidding in her
brother's tone and manner. Evident
ly, the only question that had entered
his mind was how to get rid of the
unwelcome encumbrance that had
been left upon his land. Their
thoughts were traveling in diamet
rically opposite directions —the
woman's towards retaining the child,
the man's towards disposing of it.
There was something of the protec
tive cunning of love in Abigail's evasive
answer to her brother. 'Tro'mbly
somebody will come along and claim
it in a little while," she said.
Nathan Drew laughed derisively.
Then he took a huge bite out of one
of Abigail's delicious chickeu sand
wiches and washed it down with a gulp
of coffee from the warm can. "Verv
likely," he replied at length; "very
likely!" Then he laughe 1 again.
"Somebody dropped it accidentally in
the swamp, eh, boys? Somebody'll
be comin' back, 'most crazy to find it,
by 'n' by."
The hired men laughed servilely,
though it was plain that their minds
were chiefly absorbed by the lunch
basket which their employer held be
tween his legs and was steadily plun
dering.
"Well, come on, boys. Hitch np
here and have something to eat!"
cried the farmer. "We can't bother
about a baby all day. There's work to
be done."
The tongues of the hired men were
loose 1 as their anxiety disappeared,
and one of them,a smart little French
Canadian, exclaimed:
"Ah guess ah know where dat
bebby come from,me! Dat mans leev
in lumber shanty on Coon Hill? he
tone, an' heez oi' hooman have t'ree.
four, live bebby prob'ly too. Ah
bet dat mans left dat bebby,sell!"
"I shouldn't wonder," replied Na
than Drew. ".Shiftless chap! Camp
ing down on my property with
out even asking permission and usinp
my lumber shanty, stave and wood!
I'm gla l he's gone, but I wish he'd
taken bis hull blame brood with him.
The young un 'll prob'ly gov up jest
like the rest of 'em, la y and wuth
lesßl"
"Ah heard say," continued the lit
tle Frenchman, "dat man's Hinglish
man, good fambly, but not ver' strong
for work. Los' heez heulth an' 'bliged
for take to de woods. No money—no
health-big fambly. Ah guess ah'll
do 'bout same t'ing as him, bah gosh,
if ah get too much bebby!"
"Don't doubt it, Alphonse," re
joined the farmer. "That's jest the
sort of a critter yon be and yer hull
Canuck tribe."
Alphonse grinned appreciatively and
took no oli'ence. Then silence fell
upon the three men until the last
crumb and drop of their noonday lunch
had disappeared.
Abigail tenderly laid the baby down
in the grass while she gathered to
gether the dishes and napkins and re
packed them in the basket. Her
brother stood over her, watching. He
was a spare, hard-faced, iron-gray
man, who showed by every line and
feature the absence of sentiment in
his make-up. The woman's hands
trembled as she worked. .She knew
he was about to say something con
cerning the child. Presently ho
spoke:
"You kin keep that young un jest
two days, Abigail. Then, if there
don't nobody come to claim it, I am
goin' to take it to the Foundling Hos
pital." Having thus delivered him
self, lie shouldered his pitchfork aud
walked determinedly away.
Tears obscured the homeward path
of the little w0.11.111 as she straggled
through the shimmering sunlight with
the infant on her arm. She knew that
her brother would be turned from his
purpose neither by argument nor by
entreaty. He had spoken, and that
was an end of it—the indexible ulti
matum of that old Puritan-bred tyr
anny that survives in so many heads
of New England lionseholds.
But, though the path was blurred,
it took her home—the only home she
had ever known,the roof under which
ihe had been born and reared and
which had descended to her elder
brother when their parents died.
Hastening to the pantry, she took milk
ind warmed it for the babe, half stu
pefied by starvation. Then,clumsily,
jret with a woman's instinct, she spar
ingly fed the child with a spoon,a few
Irops at a time. As life came back to
he little body with nourishment, the
jaby cried weakly, aud Abigail
itrained it to her bosom, while tears
jf mingled joy and pity rained down
ipon the little head. What a pretty
,'hild it was, despite its snllering*!
What a clear, white skin; what a Ut
ile, poiuted, dimpled chiu; what blue,
jlue eyes; what breadth of forehead
md fullness of temple; what dainty
ittle hands; what a soft, sweet neck
"or nestling a mother's lips!
For two days Abigail Drew lived in
the awful joy of one who drains the
aectar from a cup which, when
emptied, must be dashed to earth.
She tried to put away the thought that
she and that little bubj' girl must part.
She tried to make those two precious
lays heaven enough for all of life.
She tried, with all the dutifuluess aud
reverence of her nature, to bow to her
brother's will and be content. But
svery hour the whisper in her heart
?rew stronger and more insistent—
"Cleave to the child. Keep her, cher
ish her. She is yours, a Rift of God,
the answer to your life-long prayer."
At last she went to her brother aud
poured out her heart with an intensity
of passion he had never suspected in
that quiet, reserved, meekly subser
vient sister of his. But, although
surprised and disturbed, Nathan Drew
was not moved. His heart remained
obdurate. To him the thought of a
foundling chilA in the house was un
endurable. Never a lover of children,
always convinced in his own heart
that childlessness was the more
blessed state, how could he be ex
pected to look with favor upon an
adopted baby, a child' concerning
whose antecedents and propensities
one knew absolutely nothing? No! he
would not hear to it. To the Found
ling Hospital at Mayaeld the little
waif must go.
Towards evening of the last day of
her probation Abigail Drew began to
gather together certain little treasures
of her own—heirlooms. Her mother's
Bible, the laces left her by Aunt Ju
dith, an old-fashioned watch and
chain, six silver spoons, worn as thin
as paper—these, and a few other
things, she wrapped in a bundle; and
then, taking baby and bundle in her
arms, she went out,closing the kitchen
door reverently and softly behind her.
Down the road, through the haze of
the late afternoon, she walked, as
one in a dream, leaving behind her all
that she Lad ever khown and loved
hitherto.
From the distant meadow came the
sound of whetstone on scythe-blade
what a clear, chewry ringl How
could Nathan beat such music with
banishment for the babe—for both of
them, did he but know itl —in his
heart?
Beyond the bridge, Abigail turned
into the woods and followed the
stream westward, for the road ran too
near the meadow where Nathan and
his men were haying. The child fell
to crying, but she nestled it and kept
on. Just before sunset she came out
of the woods upon another road and
followed it southward. The summer
dusk began to deepen, yet she met no
traveler and passed no house. What
a lonely country it was, that New
Hampshire mountain valley! The
great hills looked down over the
woods like stern-faced giants. The
night air smelled of swamps and piny
glens and deep-buried solitudes. The
voices were all those of wild creatures,
mysterious aud hidden. How the
weary, heart-sick woman longed for
the sight of a roof, a chimney,an open
door —especially for the face of one
of her own sex. Only the heart of a
woman understands a woman's heart!
At last, when the fireflies began to
drift across her path like sparks from
the crumbling embers of the sunset,
Abigail, turning a bend in the road,
came suddenly upou the welcome
glow of a farmhouse window. She
hastened forward and,turning into the
little path between the lilac bushes,'
approached the open door. A man
sat upon the doorstep smoking,and,as
he saw the approaching figure, he
rose aud called liis wife,
A buxom, sweet-faced woman came
bustling to the door, skewer in hand.
The moment Abigail's eyes rested
apon her face she cried:
"Luciiula Jones!"
The skewer fell clattering upon the
loor, aud the two women rushed to
gether, like amicable battering-rams,
;he arms of the larger embracing
riend and child in their expansive
smbrace.
"Abigail Drew! Be yon still living
n these parts'? I heard, away out in
fork state, where we just moved from,
hat you and your brother bad gone
.vest 20 years ago. My! and you've
jeeu aud married and got a baby?
3ome in—come in! Lorenzo,fetch the
•ocker out of the settin' room. How
jlad lam to see you again, Abigail. I
:bought you and me was parted for
3ver."
How straight love had led her wan
taring feet! Abigail sank down in
the cushioned rocker and marveled at
the cheerful firelight pl.iying on the
Face of the sleeping babe. Welcome
—refuge—sympathy! Ah! she had
□ot obeyed the inward voice in vain.
Six weeks was Nathan Drew a-search
iug for the treasure he had lost. He
irove east, west, north and south,
stopping at every mountain farmhouse
to seek news of his sister. Nobody
had seen her going or coming. The
Fawning earth could not have swal
lowed her more completely.
But at last he found her. She was
sitting, with her baby, on a low ch-iir
under the lilac bushes, aud he spied !
her before he had reached the house, |
She saw him at the same moment and,
springing up like a hunted creature, 1
made as if she would have fed. But
he stopped her with a pleading ges
ture and a look on his face such as she
had not seen since they were children
together.
"You don't know bow I've missed
you, Abigail," he said, simply, draw
ing rein in front of the lilac' bushes.
The man looked haggard and worn,
aud thers was a pathetic tone in his
voice.
"1 can't go home with you, Nathan,''
said Abigail, firmly; and she pressed
the rosy child closer to her bosom.
Yet there was a yearning look in hei
eyes that her brother was not slow to
interpret.
"I've thought it all over sence you
left, Abigail," he said; "and it's b'eD j
borne in upon me that, per'aps, I wa? j
wrong about the child. Come home, j
and you shall keep it as long as you |
live. I won't say another word. It's ;
the only love affair you ever bed, Abi- j
gail, aud I ain't a-goin' to stand anj I
longer between you aud your heart.'' |
The tears welled to Abigail's eyes ns
she came out into the road with hei j
child. "Put your hand on her head, !
Nathan," she said, "and swear to me
that you will never parr us. Then 1
will go home with you."
Nathan Drew hesitated a moment.
Then he touched the child's head with
the tips of his horny fingers and said:
"I swear it, Abigail."
So they two and the child went
homo together.—New York Post.
Elephant I.ost a Tugk.
Hatnee, the Zoo elephant, has
broken off one of her tusks, one oi
those big, long, handsome chunks oi
ivory that have been her glory and hei
pride for many au 1 many a year. No
body kuews bow it happened. The
calamity was discovered shortly aftei
daybreak the other morning, when hei
keeper arrived to give her her break,
fast. He found the tusk lying on the
floor, and the great, docile creature
was fondling it in a pathetic way with
her trunk. It had broken oft'close to
the flesh, aud at that poiut was slight
ly decayed, but to no serious extent.
The occurrence is a very rare oue iD
captive elephant life, and the onlj
explanation seems to be that Hatnee
had a tussle with a team of night
mares and got done up to the extent
of losing her left tusk. But the fact
that she just as eagerly as ever de-
Toured her breakfast of two big buck
etfuls of oats and bran, a 190 pound
bale of bay and 18 bucketfuls of Ohio
river water, showed how little hei
loss concerned her. The tusk will
make as valuable a set of billiard ballf
as were ever turned out. A new tush
will grow in place of the old one, but
considerable will be required. -
Cincinnati Enquirer.
J THE REA^p
A Tasteful Model.
The general preference for full
waists shown in all transpared
gowns makes a marked feature of im
season. The tasteful model by
Man ton here shown, while essendjjk
youthful in effect, is suited to jl
young women and matrons, as'we/i ae
Rirls, and to all thin materials. The
foundation is a fltted lining. As il
lustrated it closes invisibly at the cen
tre back, but the opening can be made
it the front if preferred. The yoke
I )f lace is faoed onto (he line of per
forations, and there meets the full
portion, which is (ralhered at both the
upper and lower edge. Over the join
ing is arranged a Mil puff, and below
I. 112& 0U W ,B I
it falls a frill of lace. >Lt tf neck is
a high-standing oolla mvAunted
a frill. The sleeves :e Jo-seam '.edl
and wrinkle slightly. ;t ae mounfte,!
upon smooth, snug-fi g linings. Yv.t
the shoulders are d le frills, forc
ing epaulets, and at s wrists naV
rower frills, which fa ?er the hand!
To make this waist for a woman of
medium size two and three-quarter
yards of material forty-four inches
wide will be required.
Laities' Blouse Basque.
Few colors are more deliriously
cool in their effect than gray and
white. The stylish basque shown in
the large illustration is of silk, which
combines the two in narrow stripes
and is itself combined with pure white
Liberty in the shirred yoke and plisse
frill.
The foundation is a fitted lining
that closes at the centre front. The
yoke is first shirred and is then
faced onto the required depth and
closes at the left shoulder seam, but
the basque proper which consists of
black, side-back and uuder-arm gores
and full fronts, closes invisibly at the
left side beneath a strip of band trim
ming which finishes the edge. The
circular frill of the silk is edged with
Liberty plisse and finished with a
band and is seamed to the foundation
at the edge of the yoke. The sleeves
are two-seamed and fit snugly and the
basque portion is seamed to the body
at the waist line. At the neck is a
high collar of shirred Liberty supple
mented by a frill. At the wrists are
bands of the trimming with frills that
simulate cuffs.
To make this basque for a lady of
medium size four and a half yards of
material twenty-two inches wide will
be required.
Breeie-Glvlng Fan* the Fashion.
Fashion says our fans are growing
larger, and in the very near future the
old-time immense fans will be the
proper thing. For several years the
pretty soft ostrich fans have been hid
den away as out-of-date, but you
may now bring them out as being
quite the latest and newest thing, and
air them on the very swellest occasions
with the greatest assurance of being
correct. Qauze fans of black with
1 white lace, and white ones with black i
F*BP still good, and witlial, the
,■[ , 8 k°} (1 tlj eir own. Band-
V ® ll8 > with figures in conti-
Kidpr Jr eR ' are URe<l - J apa«e fie
K.l u ,°' lea 0,1 P auz e are par
|K W handsome, while the thirty
dieitax 'j n P er fan is dainty and
*!•-« oninn s Home Companion.
Parfsifi"*' 5,3,1e For Par »""'»-
ire prettyj nf !]. ed frr ' m llem to stick
little inexfil eff ective. Pretty
slain colors" lve P ar ' lßola come in
Jink, to match e (fp' ; av€ er ' £° B e,
inve an effective!®-,", gowna - They
expensive parasV « 1 Re " more
The Tonucfflt IVk. .
Ahi i , , . an Lawyer.
Although bnt ninei en TPnvt . ~i i
Hario W. Hanus, of Chk ' if. ®, '
admitted to the bar,
■barge of cases before Justus
unst wait, however, nntil sh, ♦_ "
y-one, just as if she were * y< 7un '
nan, before she can practice j n the
ugher court. Miss Hanns * ieak !
several languages, including iy.hp
man. ° c
Charlotte Yong-e Scholarship..
Miss Charlotte Yonge, the writer, is
>eventy-five years of age and has writ
-en more than eighty books. Her ad
nirers, headed by the Princess of
,*'fV re collecting money to endow
.bree free scholarships to be known
by her name. They will be for girls
A Woman YVoodchopper.
Mrs. Daniel Downey, of Vineland,
; J - 6«PPort« her family by chop
ping-wood. H CI . husband if an in
valid, and so she cuts the trees, saws
the wood and earns $2 a day.
Child's Empire Gown.
,J?° m ° dcl is ,r rc generally popnlar
oi small girls gowns than the Em
pire with its graceful folds and ad
miral, c lines. The design shown ? u
illustration is well suited to all
Hummer raateim i
India silks in tW th «<i« rm l iu S
is here made ■ pat»#f n3 bnt
trimmed with \ * n
ialied with bowfl\ f y ***** ~n "
bon. l\ of Pf* nb *
The long skirtl . .Bt
full and is Bttachg"*^?Bil. a .
yoke •which in
band of needlewoi .f5 vT a
frill. The sleeves a ~. n ?
and are finished wii.sP < rP , ** e :
that at the neck.
which fall over tlieA lbl f ! rU,s
graceful bretelles ar J? , ®
edged with narrow fi y , n 5~
i POPULAR FOR SMALL GIRLS .
— Temperance News nnd Note#.
boll being placed at the waiXlqnor bills are often paid at the lunatic
where tlicv teriuiuAto in ft po^ut
thirty incUo* «lf« « U _ b « «■;. tS?
o^;^pur-teatKcsi?ssr
and cuest cards in ufi exact iraitalK the morals of the people and seal
iu coloring and X.nauieutationF. ® °', 0 R <>publle.
W. <ltrwDod ware, J l is silently but surely gifting the
| \t ctig* 30 J liio People lntc two classes-home
Wolawes n d ° ,eUdera ' Thßl ' e ttrß
A TEMPERANCE COLUM]
THE DRINK EVIL MADE MANIFE:
IN MANY WAYS.
Satan'* Sawmill*—Youth is the Form!
Time of Habits and There, Unless Cai
fnllv Watched, Will Grow Until Tli
lllncl Like llandculTs.
The sawmills of satan, the slum and saloc
Where villains anil felons are raa<le,
Daylight and twilight, midnight and noo
Driving their devilish trade.
I, p wltli the Kites! Howtheyhaul thernli
„ they jam and jostle aud crash!
bonked and sodden and slimy with sia
To these terrible teeth they rush.
lassos, the freckled and fair, ~
01 th(3ir beauty and bloom;
The child of vice and the child of prayei
Drawn to the drunkard's doom.
Oh, horrible change! From the mill t
comes
All scarred and scathed and cursed;
,rf vln , l? wru tch lung out of the slums,
ihe demon lias done his worst.
t l hfi3eh °olhouse, college andeo
Seized and sawn and slan,
iSnn'th 8 h e bargained and bough
10 Keep up the old refrain.
Who licensed this ruffian to capture and
r J'en, l K < , 1 ' hat love<l so well;
To fuel?h UP n murder mill
ao iuoi the Ilamcs of iiell?
Qy the love of your God and love of your
rhlil' ,re ® me 1; we plead and implore
destroy, ° f SilUn and
CeUhembui m w. r f °? r thom D 0 morfl -
Jr Use U P OUI -' youth by 2 8'ell""g 'them rum:
v t ? n . ly " ° la * 8 in t,le Momlnit.
th-se^^lVsselrerX 8 washed "wiuV^
uniilthey bind like ropes und' bandc* Jh
isrsftafcto™ 110 ''
r a vm''ff o pl . ease >' ou rn d 0 so. but
rvin » y ' re P' le( l the other. "But I a-n
juestlon?" thaak you \ or y° ur tlme, y
riend W dld " " ffo<3t y° u? \ Inquired tho
!.n V 3 ne * vous Hli<l tremblin dfcll dav I
nean to keep the upper hand'after
Strong drink will noVer m'e in itsTt
Business J{ »™ the Drunkard.
tai,irt^ n ?.t nness to " layls deemed dlsrenn-
Httio while agon' simply
io n th o ednSd ßUU it S h'' doors 'absolutely
Business competition has becom/so k.'™n
S?«S y S°,°"" "■» •"•tot hiuu
sssanft-s
--world the same tiling is true The
eivo Indulgence of even a few
C ld Tocietv t0 h erat H° d ' lt &To
•w'wsawsiSssir'Kax-
gsai-srß.-«sard|s
«"■ 'mta& iftsjayxatefe
Saint (tainbrinuH,
' "V®'^ >0 Acoordi ng'to ?tf rt orv
told of how lie came to fill this nichp it
wmso LTr 9 ft . sbQll °w-pated fellow who
*° distressed at being jilted by a girl
ho » t lro POsed to commit suicide". While
he sat upon the Jimb of the troe with a si in
and S ol?er"i ♦ uoe , k ' Sat,lu came to him
, 11 if'\ reveal to him an art which
should bring aim riches and rank and
make the girl chagrined for having refused
Mm. and at the end of thirty years he was
to give up his soul to the devil. The hkr
brewing Tien tau * ht w,ls »eer
l.f- iVi i , . ' ite d his beor so much that
b> Its sale he became very wealthy while
that h!} I>eror Pj lHrlerna S u e liked it so much
that he gave him rank, but Gambrinns ho
tll,lt , Wl , lon the i m| is ca mo
beer made tho 11 drunk bis
not*&Y b l °°*T l otbiaat lnst tbc story does
notsaj.but It is a most 8U acres tho mm
"ostinff thi^K o'* 0 '* "".'"ventlon of the devil
tae beer-seller his soul, and so in
toxicafag as to make even the devils drujik.
| Gladstone on Drunkenness.
"Let us all carry with us, deeply stamped
l' e«t °ni r „ " rtS ; souso of sbarne for tho
Meat plague of drunkenness which
tn »°<li R " "V la i" tl sn PP ln « and undermin
ing character, breaking up the hanDinpca
of families, oftentimes choosing for its vie
bie B l t e r rst '. ,m . t th,> 'uost suscepl
tible. hurel> there is hardly one araoniAt
us who has not seen the pestilent result
to Which this habit leads. We shou Id carry
. p anJ adequate sense of tho
mischief, and an earnest intention to do
J l ,, lu lies to remove it."—ltlght Hon
£vSSowS&. Q " iJstoae ' 10 a spooah
Music Better Than Whisky.
< ll i e "? en iu America who Imaglno that
their brains need prodding would sub
■titute music for whisky as a j.rodder thev
Would be amazed at results. Unless a man
j" tlie 'find and nerves of a saurian there
'M mpre stimums for his brain in an hour s
® o t'L 0r M IB b ode , ra^1 >- bad—music than in
The ° m tho COr ? of two rauk> s'
rhe man who wrote thn
We o vi'o'| l in H f I [ lde l >en douce played upon
Pen He li ! vor - v of 'en and verv
fi I not drink whisky. Who knows
*!inti n at l? n °?" es 10 tllH old ilddle of
■onticello?—Now York Journal.