THE SONG OF THE WORLD. There's a song that the hammer is staging, There'* a song that the sails are singing, A ringing and wholesome song, A humming and catching song, Of the day's bread won, Of the prow that braves Of the day's work done, The ravening waves, Of a mold well cast Of storms outsailed. In the fiery blast— And of ports safe bailed— And never one blow gone wrong. And never the helm gone wrong. There's p song that the engines are dinging, There's a song that the world is singing, A deep and echoing song, A resonant, splendid song, Of the whirring wheel Of its wort, work, work, And the burnished steel, With never a shirk, From the lightest spring Of its battles won, To the mightiest swing— Of its laborß done— And never a stroke gone wrong. And of Right that masters Wrong! —lsabel Bowlban Pinley, in St. Nicholas. j Maggie—Who Was Blind. J j BT BERTHA SEAVE J Maggie was 30, and Mercy was 5. ; Maggie had a down-town business— I a fairly paying business, too—to I which she attended every day, a busi- j ness with a movable office and no j rent to pay. Maggie was blind, certainly blind. There was really no mistake and no pretending about it Everyone who passed her believed it. For there were truly holes where | the eyes ought to be, and the : lids were pinched close together— | closer than fringed gentians ever tried , to be—they looked as if they never j would come open, even if you took both hands to make them do it. Mamma Maggie might have been 13 instead of 30, she was so tiny. Mercy was made sweet every morn ing aud dropped in at the free kin dergarten as Maggie and the Irish neighbor passed on the way to the office. Maggie carried a big book and Mr. McMooney,the Irish neighbor, carried a low little black chair, and gallantly held Maggie's arm and guided her over crossings and through the busy throngs. The chair was placed on a Bunny j corner, if the day was clear, and there | Maggie and the Lord kept office all the day. The Lord appealed to the hearts of the people while Maggie made her voice strong aud clear as she read from the big book, which had raised letters. A little worn tin cup always set on the edgo of the page. It was a noisy place. Every mo ment the cable cars ran past and the elevated trains roared overhead. I Numberless heavy truck wheels and | hundreds of iron-shod feet kept grind- j ing and crunching on the iron rails i and on the cobble stones, and scores j of leather-shod feet passed where Mother Maggie sat. The scuff scuifle of these feet close by was more acute to her sensitive ears than all the other noises. For she knew j that they were human feet and above them throbbed human hearts. So she read high and loud, telling with her twiigue what words her fingers , had traced on the pages on the big : book. The book was large because the let- : ters were raised and very large. It j took only a few words to cover quite j a spa?e on the thick white pages. Mrs. Maggie read about the pretty I flowers and the greeu fields and the I woods. Those who stopped to listen j thought it an old, worn theme, but a wonderfully curious way of reading j about it, nevertheless, and in pity ! dropped their pennies into the cup j and passed on. It hcd been not always thus with ; Maggie Once there had been a hus band. John was born blind, but Maggie was so by accident. John was we>l educated and held a position is teaiher in the asylum. But he lied. And so came about the mov ible oflce and the little old tin cup. The cup was never full. Deary me! —Maggie knew better than to let it jet fuT. She considered it best al ways 1o present an empty cup. Pennies mostly fell in, and nickels, aud rarely a silver bit. They all vanished into the big pocket that hung in the folds of Mag gie's rusty black skirt, and was hidden vith the big old-fashioned cape that -otected Maggie from the weather. * * « * * * ~wcy kept house alone when the was dismissed. her eyes were all right— as bi Sjt and clear and brown as eyes could » That is why she was named i i C 7i en slle came. She appreci li T e y o «. to °. an d helped her mothertto e whatever was to be seen. When she aloue sbe duste(l th T' Z 6 aU talked and waited and talked throng hourß an(l hom . B When she t ood at tbe w j ndow G f the one little . of a room she lived, the p le and the teams away down in vh Btreet Beemed BO far off that she pla.,j th were onl make-believe. It wa W , J if in fanc > that the horses sl.ppe lan(1 fe „ aml were lashed by their dr tLe uewß . boys scurried and sque. d (fol . tbejr shouts were not very loutF the time they reached her winded „ m1 tl , fi carriages flashed in the sun „ ml „ nr ried beautiful ladies. Her vln d ow _ gazing invariably came aftt, B ij e dusted the furniture. The w n ,^ ow sill was paintless and also speck QSS because as she gazed and thought talked she rubbed and scrubbed with a tiny wet rag. When the win dow sill was quite clean—and we might say quite worn out-for the day, Mercy set up her clothes-pin dolls and made them go a-calling. She talked for both of them, and had them drag their dawdy calico trails over the window-sill pavement with a swish of style and pride. Mercy never went down into the halls to play with the other children of the house, nor yet into the street. "Mum Maggie" forbade it. "These children," she had taid, "are not very niea—and then ttrre if to be the tetter." Mercy must watch and listen for the postman to call their names. Everything depended upon that letter. Mum Maggie could give up the movable office when the letter had come. It had been ex pected for two years—ever since Papa John died. It was going to give Mum Maggie the first place that was vacant among the teachers at the school for the blind where Papa John had taught. And so when the postman stood at the street door and whistled, Mercy ran to the stairway and listened. Everyone on all the floors did, too, and the rickety old banisters fairly bristled with raggedy heads when he called out the names of the fortunate ones. Thus far he had not called "Kimber," and Mercy often pursed her lips and told her clothes-pin dolls that he never would. A parade was ever a great trial to Mer>.-y. She grew so excited and so eager to be in it or near it that while it was passing she had to stand on the very tip-toe of one foot. One hand held the other foot while another hand held fast to the window sill, and the little solemn face was pressed against a square of glass. Many a time she thought of rushing down the stairs. But she staved. "Mum Mag gie" must be obeyed. Mum was little, but she was mighty. She just had to be obeyed. "I'll go with you to down town when I'm 6," she used to say; '"that'll make me big 'nongh, won't C years?" "Dear, dear," laughed Maggie. "How could I ever get through the crowds and crossings with only a baby of 6 to see for me." The crowds were thicker than usual one day—it was the day of the grand parade. The president was passing through the city on his way home to Washington, and the people were out to welcome him. The noises roared, and the feet tramped and scuffed. The little tin cup was emptied often, al though Mrs. Maggie did not quite un derstand. She had not heard of the great parade. She read on and on; then she listened and waited. At last the notes of a bugle reached her, then the drum beats and the tramp, tramp of feet. She ceased reading. A faint shout came to her. The people were cheering, and she heard the magic name of the president as the sounds became clearer. A sudden fright possessed Maggie. Evidently the parade was marching toward her office and she knew that the sidewalks would be jammed with people, and she but a tiny, helpless woman at the mercy of the throng. Onward marched the feet. First came the shoutingboys andafew men, then men, women aud children. Mamma Maggie had hardly a chance to catch her breath before she was in the midxt of the rush, and actually carriel along, inch bv inch, on the smooth pavement as she sat in the low little c'lair. "The Lord is with me,'' she thought, as she folded ber trembling lingers over the big closed book. "He will not suffer my feet to be moved. She thought it in an agony; then she resolved to say it. She made her voice loud and high—hei- strong street voice she used, and at the clear words a big man turned and looked down. "You seem to be moving, though, chair and all," he said. "Here,boys, lend a hand. Lift her up." Many strong hands laid hold of the chair. "What shall we do with her?" they asked. "There's no place to set her down." "Carry her along, then," was the lusty answer. And so, almost at the head of the crowd, sat "Mum Maggie," marching to the measured tread of feet with the band playing and the president him self following in his carriage. And the people shouted, and the horses champed and pranced and the presi dent did the honors. "They are going south, and very soon, at this rate, I shall be home," thought Maggie. "I never expected to go home in such state. Please set me down at Feck's place," she called to the big man on her left. "Live there?" he asked. "What number?" ".Seventeen," she answered,in great relief. "All right. Boys.tnrn off at Peck's place, No. 17." The big man lin gered when the others had hastened back to the main street. "Seventeen, Peck's place"—he pondered— "Peck's place." Then be took from his vest locket a little »i>ft covered book and tinned its leaves. "Here 'tis," he sai) t "Peck's place. Do you know ft Mis. Maggie Kiuiber living at this place l " is my name," fluttered Mother Maggie. "No! is it? Well, well!" There was a pause. Wonder and surprise kept both the big man and the little woman silent. "Why did you never—what are you —well!" The big man seemed to be tinable to express himself. It was the little woman who straightened him. "Who are yon?" she asked. "Why, yon know, I'm one of the board. I'm president of the board for the home for the blind. Why did you not reply to the letter of the secre tary?" Maggie gasped and fell back against the wall of the passageway. "I never —got the letter—l never had any let ter," she said. "Was there a vacan cy?" , "Yes,there was a vacancy." Tbebig man actually trembled as he realized what it meant to this helpless little woman. He longed to say something comforting, but there was nothing to say. "I don't know who is to blame," he was saying, when the sound of the carrier's whistle nearly drowned his words, and in a moment the postman was at the door. "Here!" demanded the big man. "Do you know about a letter directed to Mrs. Maggie Kimber?" The postman dropped his whistle at the sudden attack. "Why, yes, I do. And I delivered it, too. I remembered iit because it was a uew name. I had never had any mail for that party be fore. Let me see; it must have been three weeks ago." "Oh," groaned Maggie. "Was it in the morning?" The postman thought a moment "Yes, it was, I believe— yes. " "And no one was here to watch foi it and someone in the house has kept it!" The little black chair fell over or its face in the midst of the three. The big man looked the postman over fiercely. "That's a great way to do business," he said, sternly. "What was Ito do? The woman who took it said her name was Kim ber, and I gave her the letter." j "The vixen!" said the big man. j "Oh, oh! don't sav that. Perhaps | there is another Kimber here. But, j tell me, is the vacancy filled?" cried I Maggie. I The big man was looking up at the ; banisters where the bristling heads | listened for the postman to call. "No wonder," he muttered. "A rough-looking lot—no wonder." "What's the damage?" said the* postman. "I'll do what I can to make good my mistake. - ' | "1 suppose it's filled by this time, j It's in the hands of the committee. | I'll find out aud let you know. I'll come myself and tell yon. Now,which one of those heads did it? Which took the letter?" "She isn't there —this sort of people 1 never stays long in a place. The woman has gone away by this time." The postman called out two names, and the big man departed. Maggie climbed the stairs. The old chair bumped noisily along as she slowly journeyed upward. Mercy heard her and flew to meet ! her. "I didn't go, mum—l wanted to, j but I didn't. 1 stayed to watch for the letter. I fought I'd put it in the ] bread furkin if it coined,but it didn't. ! Nothing tome but the p'rade,'' sh'- said. Two days afterward the big man stopped at the movable office. "It's all right," he said to Maggie. . "They had found a teacher, but she j has resigned. She is going to be married." He called a cab and put the little ! blind woman in it and rode away, leaving the little black chair alone on the pavement. The movable office was deserted. The next time the big man ; passed the place a bootblack had moved in. But tho bootblack nevei knew what the low chair knew, noi how it and the grand parade had helped to usher in good times foi Mum Maggie and for little Mercy.— , Chicago ltecord. REPAIRINC C ARRIACES. A Trade That In Heine Somewhat At feeteil by the Automobile. i The horse has been displaced to a limited extent in tho city by the auto mobile. The latter has not yet be come popular in the country, though it may do so eventually. Already in I New York and other large places it has been found that the character oi | the repairs called for are different from those formerly needed. There j is less work for the blacksmith aud ; more for the machinist. However, j the chief factor in the new situation is not self-propulsion, but the rubber I tire. A writer in The Hub says: j "People engaged in the making and 1 repairing of carriages were prone to j laugh and sneer at the writer when ; told that vibration of the parts of a ! vehicle passing over stone pavements : was the agent that produced the many ! fractures of wheeled vehicles in the \ many parts of wood and iron. The i writer also said that not until soft pavements or soft tires came into use would there be any change. The buffer cushioned axle produced a little ■ diversion in favor of reducing noise its main object The rubber tire, solid, semi-solid or pneumatic, to gether with the Boft pavement, have ! hit the economical nail on the head in this town. If the tires are put on ; properly there is no tolling how long the vehicle will go without repairs. "The rubber tire does not shut ofl vibratio.i entirely. It reduces it to a ! minimum; in the end the result is the same. In consequence of this the i great number of carriage makers who j depend solely o;i repairs of carriages 1 for a living began to complain. Where there was formerly work for three | fire i and thirty hands, there is today ! not enough for one fire to do, while [ six men make up a full complement ! for the plant. One of the pet phrases 1 is, 'The man who invented rubber | tires ought to be hamstrung.' And : there are many others too positive to I mention, but nevertheless the passing ! of the small carriage repair shop is not ! hidden very deep in the future." [FOR FARM AND GARDEN.! A Brown Whitewash. It may seem as much of a misnomer to speak of a brown whitewash as of a white blackberry, but the United States uses a wash that gives a brown ish white, not so glaring to look upon when new as a lime wash, and it is claimed to be more durable and to re sist water much better. Take three parts of good hydraulic cement, not necessarily the highest priced, and one part of clean, fine sand, and mix well with cold water. Wet the sur face to be covered, whether wood, stone or brick, and then apply the wash before the surface dries, which will make it adhere better. Keep well stirred while using. Straw as a Horse Feed. Some straw can always be fed to horses, the amount varying with the work and the purpose for which the animal is used. Idle horses, having ample time for masticating and di gesting their feed, can subsist almost wholly on good, bright straw; hard worked animals and those required to move rapidly can make use of only a little—the feeder must judge from the conditions how much to supply. It is a notable fact that many horses are fed costly hay for roughage when cheaper straw or fodder would prove equally satisfactory. In relative value for horse feediag, the straw ranks in the following order: Oat, barley, wheat, rye—the last named being of slight utility. Potatoes and Kye. Potatoes do excellently well upon land where a crop of green rye has been plowed in, Ufeing usually very free from scab, fair and smooth. Early potatoes can be taken off in time to sow rye, which will make growth enough to furnish a good fall pasture or a spring pasture for cattle or sheep, aud then it may be plowed under in season to plant potatoes again or some other later crop. We do not like the idea of growing two crops of potatoes on the same land for two years in succession, but there are many other crops which would follow well after the rye was plowed in, and nearly all crops can be taken oft' in time to sow rye after them, which will be large enough to plow under in the spring. But do not trust to the rye alone as a fertilizer, but use it as an addition to the other fertilizer ap plied. Itape as a Food Crop. We have not yet seen a single un favorable statement about rape from any who have tested it as food for sheep, hogs or poultry, aud that is more than we can say for any of the new forage crops, as vetch, sorghum, brome grass, katlir corn or any of the rest While some praise them very highly, others find some fault, or have failed to induce them to grow well upon their soil. But rape seems to grow auywhere that cabbages or tur nips will grow, and to do nearly as well, whether sown in the shade of an orchard as out in the open field, and very nearly as well upon a light soil Recently mauured as on the most fer tile fields of the prairie. We hope our readers will try it this year if they have anything to feed it to. It may not prove as good fodder as the corn crop, but it is worthy of trial.—Ameri can Cultivator. One Way to Plant Peas. "Vith the wheel hoe furrows were ma,le 3 1-2 feet apart and five or six inches deep by plowing twice in the same furrow. The peas were then :lrilled in by hand, using one quart of see l to 150 feet of row, and covered by reversing the plows to turn in, running through each furrow and covering the peas two to three inches deep, and walking on the rows be hind the plow to firm and compact the soil over the seed. The rows were made 3 1-2 feet apart that early sweet corn could be planted between every other two rows of peas, leaving a clear space between each two rows to facil itate picking. After covering, a shallow trench was left about three inches deep and eight inches wide. As the peas grew this was gradually filled level by cul tivation. Cultivation was begun as Boon as the peas were up, by going through the rows with a cultivator aud following the cultivator with the rakes at the first cultivation and subsequent ly once a week thereafter. The crop was cultivated three times a week, until the peas were in full bloom, keeping the soil constantly stirred to a sufficient depth, smooth and free from weeds.—C. P. Byington, in New England Homestead. Clearing Fields of Stones. In the first place, when clearing a field of stones, pick up all on top be fore plowing the field, and when break ing sod have a man with i pickax fol low the plow and pick up all that are in sight. If a subsoil plow is used, it would be a good plan to pick after that, too. Throw the stones in small piles and it will be easier to haul them off later. Our method has been to never plow down any stones if we could possibly find time to haul them off, and by taking one field at a time, cleaning that as much as possible by picking before plowing and after harrowing, once or twice, the farm will soon be clear of all stones. The boulders we dispose of in various ways. One is to 3ig out a hole at one side of them so ieep that they will sink out of the way for the plow, throwing the dirt back over them again. Another is to twitch them out of their hole with the team and haul them away, burying them in the covered drains or using them in stone walls. On our farm we have found that all boalders stand deepest on the south west side and shallowest on the oppo site side. We dig the soil away on the deepest side enough to get a chain on it and place the team facing the northeast, and out comes the rock when the team starts,unless the chain slips. One day last November with the aid of one horse I took out and hauled away a boulder that must have weighed half a ton or more, but I used my brains more than my hands, and horse, for neither of us is un usually strong.—V. T. Lundvall, iD American Agriculturist. Preparing for the Honey Harvest, In getting a colony of bees' ready for the honey harvest, one should know what plants will furnish pollen and nectar in abundance, and wher they usually are ready for the bees tc work upon. It usually takes workei bees about 37 days from the egg unti they are ready to fly out to gather honey, though they will go out at ar earlier age sometimes if the colony it weak and the stores low. This it like the sending of children out t< earn their living when very young; i< may seem necessary under some cir cumstances, but it is neither well foi the children nor profitable to the parents in the end, if they can sustair life in any other way. Then the time to begin to feed the bees to stimulate brood raising is best placed at 37 days before the blooming of the flowers, or a little more, that there may be plenty o: bees togo at work when the bouey ie ready for them. If the season is de layed beyond the expected time, kee| up the feeding, and if the combs get well filled with brood stores, put on £ super with frames of empty comb, 01 full sheets of foundation, aud let the qneen go up there to start more brood. If one can get a double hive in this way well filled with brood, he may ex pect not only a strong swarm from it, but more thau one or two crates ol sections or frames above it well filled tfith honey. It is in this way and by feeding when the honey flow slackens, and by good care at all times, that some are able to get 100 pounds oi honey or more from each colony. In this way the eight-frame hive can be made practically a 16-frame hive, with bees enough in it, and it will not send out but one swarm or should not be allowed to do so. U more increase is desired allow them to send out a second swarm, which they are likely to do if the colony is strong and queen cells are not destroyed, then hive the new swarm in the uppei box with the brood and comb thai may be there, and have the lowei hive on the old stand with supers tc build comb in.—Boston Cultivator. Food Injuring: the Butter. In the spring and summer cows will often wander into low fields and swamps and eat weeds and wild plants that affect the taste of the butter. There is sometimes a strong odor to it and again a decidedly bitter taste. This is first noticeable in the milk and cream, and the process of churn ing does not eliminate the trouble. The only sure way to prevent such odors and disagreeable taste in the butter in summer is to root out all weeds and noxious plants from the pasture. If the latter is in a run down condition where weeds thrive and grass dies, it will be pretty hard to make the food of the cows good enough to produce excellent milk and cream. It will pay better in such cases to rent more and better pasture fields, and sow the old one with new seed aud fertilize it well. Most tainted and bitter summer butter comes from farms where the cows are pastured on worn out grass fields. In the winter time, however, the dairymen caunot remedy matters so easily. The trouble comes from the food, but the latter is in the form of hay, which cannot well be separated so that the weeds can be taken out. Where weeds of a disagreeable odor have been harvested with the hay the cows will often produce inferior and bitter batter all winter. In purchas ing hay for winter feed the dairymen rnns quite n risk in buying weeds that will do more harm than the food will do good. But it is not always the weeds that taint butter. One may be as careful and particular as possible in harvest ing the hay crop, and yet find him self making butter with a decidedly bitter flavor. The cause of this is sometimes quite difficult to ascertain. In my own experience I have found that a large diet of clover hay invari ably affects the butter injuriously. No matter how ehoice the clover hay may be, it will cause the butter to have a bitter taste if fed in any large amount continuously through the winter. If fed in small quantities with other hay and feed anl with plenty of pumpkins and roots, there will be no appreciable injury done to the butter. But clover hay is not a good diet for milk cows. It has really little usefulness for the dairyman. It would pay him better if it was all turned nnder the soil to enrich it. Next to this the feeding of damaged grain is the most fruitful cause of bad body in winter. Some farmers buy up damaged grain because it is cheap, but they cannot afford to feed it to dairy cows. In nine cases out of ten it will so injure the butter that it will prove very costly in the end.— E. P. Smith, in Farm, Field and Fire side. The New Stainpbnok*. Inhabitants and summer visitors o! fog-bound and moisture-saturated seashore resorts in summer time will appreciate the paraffine leaves of the postoffice department's new stamp books. The accommodating post mistress will no longer feel moved to provide her patrons with oiled paper wrappers at her own expense. THE GREAT DESTROYER}. SOME STARTLING FACTS ABOUt THE VICE OF INTEMPERANCE. The Drone* Sell limn—A Powerful Am •wer to the Charge That Temperance Advocate* Exaggerate—lt la Itnpo**lblq to Speak Too Strongly on the Subject^ What are our liquor-sellers? The drones ol the community; they feed On the Mechanic's labor, the starved hind For them compels the stubborn glebe tq yield > Its unshared harvest; and your squalid form Drafts out In labor a protracted death To glut their grandeur. —Shelley, Exaggeration and the Saloon. Professor W. 0. Atwater, of Wesleyan University, whose experiments are said to have developed the fact that alcohol is n food and not a poison, has been beard fronj again. This time he says,"The great ob stacle in the way of temperance reform iq the habit of exaggeration." Now that la refreshing! It has uot been~thougbt hither-* to that the evils of the saloon could be ex-{ aggerated. The same authority adds, "Alcohol supplies fuel to the body." And is that nil? We had supposed that it ap plied fuel to the soul, and that the fuel It supplies to the body would ultimately con sume it with the soul in hell. That is al cohol's reputation in this community. ( But Dr. Atwater, who, by the way, is a3 sincere RS he is probably capable, buQ whose honest opinions are being made ceediugly profitable to the Amerioan sa loon, says thefrinnds of temperance hinder their cause by "tho habit of exaggeration." It would be no more difficult to exaggerate the flendisliness of the devil or the horrors of hell than to speak too vigorously against; the evils of intemperance. Amid the mel ancholy ruins of desolated homes and hearts, and surrounded by the wreckage ot lives which but for intoxicating liquors would have been strong and pujre, there is. no danger that our too-feeble language will make it possible for us to exaggerate,' Instead of exaggeratingjtbe awful crimes that lla within and without the saloon's green baize door which swings both ways into despair, all the temperance reformers in the world put together can not tell half the terrible truth. Before we can get be yond the ample borders of the facts about the drink vice to where exaggeration might begin it would bo necessary to know all the hidden secrets of sorrowing homes and lives, all the records kept in heaven, and all the life-stories of the hopeless dwellers in bell; and, possessing this knowl edge, he would recite It must speak con tinuously for a hundred generations before he could tell enough of the black history even to be tempted to exaggerate. We have not been exaggerating the poison side of Satan's favorite beverages—we, perhaps, did not know until Dr. Atwater told us that alcohol was a food or a fuel, but we did Know that it very promptly makes a man's body food for worms and his soul fuel for the eternal burning. Have we not seen it blight a million lives In their bloom, and other millions before their birth? Have we not seen it prostitute womanhood to brutishness and manhood to worse than beastliness? Please do not accuse us then 1 of exaggerating what transforms Eden Into bedlam, angels iuto demons, heaven into hell. We reseut auy accusation that we could, if we would," exaggerate the want and wretchedness which strew rags and bleeding hearts and mangled lives along the whole foul track of this death-dealing,! disease-breeding, iilth-producing, mortal ity-destroying, reason-dethroning serpent of the saloon. Haunted by no fear that we might ever be able to tell more than the truth, we stand aghast In the presence of the legal ized saloon and wish it wero possible to tell the American voter even, half of the truth about rum and the ruin it is licensed to bring iuto our land. Surely, surely even balf the truth would be enough to shut up these food shops of the devil, those coal yards of bell. , Oh, yes, alcohol is a food and a fuel!— Cumberland Presbyterian. Dmnkemieß* at Manila. A personal letter recently received from ftrmy headquarters In Manila was duly signed by an offieer who does not particu larly request that his name be kept pri vate, but so many soldiers have beep made to suffer for the truth which thev have spoken thiit wo will for the present with hold his name, He says: "I have always been an admirer of the Barn's Horn, and I trust that you will con tinue to ilgbt against every form of sin," and especially against the legalized liquor traffic, whose Iniquity I never fully appre ciated until coming to the Philippines. The infamous business thrives here under the enegetic manipulation of Amorican saloon keepers to an alarming extent. No reports that I have read in the home papers have exaggerated the conditions. I never saw so much drunkenness elsewhere."—Karn's horn. World'* Temperance Congress. A notable gathering of this year will be the world's temperance congress, which meets in London next Juue. More than twenty temperance societies, representing religious, scientilic and independent bodies In different countries of the world, will give accounts of their work and its results dur ing the century. The Continental societies are chiefly com posed of clergymen and medical men, and their work will be presented mostly from tho moral and sociological sides. The 'trictly scientific societies are English and American, one studying alcohol aud its ef fects, the other the disease of Inebriety aud it! causes. The Bishop of London will preside at the meetings, and Bobert Bae, a pioneer in fbe temperance cause, will arrange the pro gramme. An Unholy Bond. Liquor selling is universally acknowl edged a curse, but not a felony. The sa lcon victim is a social outcast, but the sa iooa keeper and the brewer and distiller are the companions of politicians aud piiuces. And yet civilization is progress ing, though with dragging steps, for hanging to her arm la the rum-seller. He claims her company and protection. They are united by bonds of self-interest. Tbey married for money, and though civiliza tion has nothing but loathing contempt for ber life companion, there seems as yet no arm brave enougU nor strong enough to break the unholy bond which unites them. A Lecture In Itself. A young lady zealous in temperance work asked a certain butcher to donate one dollar toward meeting the expanses of a temperance lectture that she was en deavoring to securfc. She did not expect to get it, and was therefore somewhat surprised when he promptly handed her a greenback,saying, "ifes I will give you a dollar. I can well ufford to, for I have sold more meat in this town since It went 'no license' than I used to in a whole week when we bad saloons." Wus not this a leo ture for "no license?" The Crnaade in Brief. Not one drop of intoxicating liquor is Allowed to be sold at any of the military camps of Canuda. The sale of liquor has been almost wholly abolished during the six months trial ot prohibition in Lowell, Mass. Under license 100,000 barrels used to be shipped into the City annually. Dr. Edward Abbott SRys: "I see more saloons within Ave minutes' walk of one of the great railway Stations In Boston, and more drunken 'natives' in a single week between Boston and Cambridge than I saw during a ten months' journey of 40,000 miles by load and sea around the world." ,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers