j The Cameo Brooch. J
a BY RETT WINWOOD. *
A pretty girl was seated upon a
vino-wreathed porch, ilarning stock
ings. Max Delauey's eyes brightened
as they rested upon her, and a thrill
stirred his usually unsusceptible
heart,
"Have I traversed the wide world
over, and gone unscathed all these
years," he asked himself, "only to
fall in love, at first sight, with a rus
tic divinity out in the wilds of Michi
gan V"
At the« sound of his footsteps the
girl looked up, with a startled air, the
lovely peach-bloom color deepening
and brightening In her velvety cheeks.
What Daisy Wentworth saw was
tall, dark young man, of eight-and
twenty, with a somewhat listless ex
pression upon his face. He wore a tour
ist's dress of gray tweed, and carried
a small pack slung across his broad
shoulders.
"May I trouble you for a drink of
water?" he asked, in a low, musical
voice, that made the girl start, its re
lined accents were so different from
the rough speech to which she was
accustomed.
Before Daisy could comply with the
request, the kitchen-door swung sud
denly open, and a hard, strong-fea
tured face, with beetling black brows
and fiery eyes, peered out, the face of
Mrs. Wentworth, Daisy's stepmother.
"Don't come in here!" she cried, in
a shrill, acrid voice, glowering angrily
at the astonished young man. "You
have nothing 1 want in that nasty
pack. 1 never trade with tramps."
"Oh, mother!" cried Daisy, in dis
may. "1 am sure the man is no ped
dler."
"He's something worse, then, and
had better go about his business."
Mrs. Wentworth was about to slam
the door, when, by an amusing coin
cidence, a peddler's cart drove into
the yard.
She was one of those women who
made "distinctions." Though unable to
abide one who carried his pack on his
own back, she had a weakness for
peddlers who had arrived at the dis
tinction of driving a cart.
The angry look instantly vanished
from her face, leaving it bland and
smiling. She decided that Max De
laney must be the avant courier.
"I'm sure I beg your pardon!" she
said, humbly. "I took you for one o'
the sort that goes about with smuggled
goods made right here at home, and
cheap luces they try to palm off as
genuine thread. I am disgusted witli
tiie whole trilu*. And Daisy there has
put me all out of temper with her
trifling and idling. Just like her dead
mother, they say. It's a dreadful trial
to have another woman's child to
bring up. I would never have mar
ried Silas Wentworth had 1 known he
would up and die at the end of five
years, and leave me to take care of
his first wife's daughter. I have
children enough of my own to look ,
after."
Daisy was accustomed to these ti
rades. but they always brought tears
to her eyes. She might have reported
that her stepmother had seized upon
the bit of property that was left, and
used it all for the benefit of her own
children, but she refrained.
"Wait a minute," Mrs. Wentworth
resumed, garrulously. "I've got lots
af rags stowed away In the garret,
that I've been keeping until the right
person comes along. If you don't
mind being hindered, I'll go and
gather 'em up."
A roguish twinkle showed itself in
Max Deianey's eyes, as the woman
disappeared in the direction of the
upper regions.
"My pack only contains the kit of
a strolling artist," lie said, smilingly.
"Hut here comes the real Simon
I'ure," as a freckled-faced man, with
a scraggy, sandy moustache, ascend
ed the steps, bringing an armful of
tinware and some old-fashioned steel
yards. "1 shall abdicate In his favor."
Daisy's cheeks were burning hotly,
but she caught up her print sunbon
net. and bringing a tumbler from the
pantry shelf, led the way to the well,
in the shadow of some lilac bushes at
the rear of the house.
Max drank the cool water she prof
ferred. as though It had been am
brosia. <»n returning the empty glass,
his gaiie happened t<> fall upon the
pin that fastened Daisy's collar. It
was a cameo of considerable value
a portrait finely mill artistically cut:
but it did not look out <>f place, though
her dress was of common gingham.
"I beg your pardon!" lie yiid. eager
ly. "But may 1 ask where you got
licit broach'/"
"it was my mother's," Daisy replied;
"thut Is why I like to wear it."
"(tli ait heirloom! <'au you tell uio
anything of Its history'/"
"Very little. My mother prised It
highly. The likeness Is that of some
relative a great aunt. 1 believe."
"SVlmt was your mother's iiiulilcn
name'/"
"Kthel McUau."
Mux KIUI it at the girl curiously, lie
Would have said more, but Mrs. Well I
worth's shrill voice sounded atl that
Instant, culling sharply for Daisy.
"Don't l»> loitering there, you tfis»i|-
for nothing child! You might try to
make yourself useful occasionally.
You've only IMS-II U burden to no- ever
since your fa I her died. *io right up
Into the i£uir<\ mid bring down the
rest o' i bent rag*."
Daisy liltted ivway, a painful flush
suffusing her free.
But she had not oeen the last of
the handsome artist.
That evening, as she stood dejectedly
at the garden gate, wearied out with
the labors of the day and trying to
escape for a few moments from her
stepmother's shrewish tongue, he
came whistling uloug the lane, and
paused beside her.
"You have been crying!" he ex
elaimed, abruptly, looking into her
pretty forget-me-not eyes.
"Yes," she admitted. "It was very
foolish of me."
"That dreadful woman has been
scolding you again?"
"I deserved it, no doubt. I am not
strong, and cannot accomplish much."
Max Delaney muttered something
under his breath, then asked:
"Why don't you leave her 7 Have
you no relatives to whom you could
go?"
Daisy shook her head.
"There is only the great-aunt of
wlioru I spoke this morning—and I
don't even know where to find her.
It would make no difference if I did.
She is very rich, but my stepmother
says she hates girls, and could not be
Induced to give me a penny."
"Suppose you go away with me?"
The girl stared at him, her cheeks
flushed, her lips parted.
"I—l don't understand what you
mean, sir," she stammered.
"There is no occasion to look so
frightened, little one, though It is very
sudden. But I took a liking to you at
once, and I cannot endure to see you
abused. I want you for my wife, darl
ing."
Daisy had had lovers before, but
never one for whom she cared.
A thrill of tingling sweetness shot
through her veins. She felt the spell
of those magnetic, dark eyes, but Max
Delaney was a stranger, and she dared
not yield to it.
"No. no—you cannot realize what
you are saying, or else you are only
laughing at me!" she cried, running
away and hiding herself, with emo
tions singularly blended of rapture and
alarm.
Two weeks wore on, Daisy saw no
more of the handsome artist, but she
was continually dreaming or thinking
of him.
One morning. Daisy unexpectedly re
ceived a letter. It fell first into her
stepmother's hands, who, in the exer
cise of a privilege arrogated to herself,
immediately tore it open and possessed
herself of its contents. It ran thus:
"I do not expect to feel proud of a
grand-niece brought up in the back
woods of Michigan, but it is time you
saw something of the world. You can
come to me for a six weeks visit, if
you like. But don't expect to become
my heiress. My will is made already,
and does not give you a dollar.
PATTY MeEEAN.
"Bless me!" Mrs. Wentworth ex
claimed, startled almost out of her
senses. "It is from that miserly old
woman, your great-aunt. How did
she learn your address, I wonder? And
she lias actually sent a cheque for one
hundred dollars to buy a new outfit,
and defray expenses. Well, I never!"
Daisy's heart beat high with hope
and expectation.
"I may go?" she cried, in an eager,
pleading tone,
Mrs. Wentworth frowned.
"'I don't knew how to spare you,
just as harvest is coming on. But that
crabbed old maid would be angry If I
refused to let you go. She lives In
Philadelphia, It appears. Twenty-live
dollars will take you there, and you'll
want -"> more for new clothes. That
will leave #.*>«> for me and my dauKhter
Joanna. Yes, you might as well tie
gin to get ready.'
When Daisy's preparations were all
made, and she was about setting out
upon her journey, Mrs, Wentworth
suld:
"Now I want you to speak a good
word for Joanna. She ain't no rela
tion of Miss Mi-Lean, to-be-sure, but
the old miser might send her a few
dresses and Jewels, mid never miss
'em. Take everything that's offered
you. Daisy, and when you come back
I'll divide the things between you two
girls."
Daisy was quite startled by the mag
nificence of the brown stone front
where Mist McLean resided.
Ilcr great aunt, a wrinkled old crone
in black velvet mid luce, well oliled her
with a kiss.
"You have your mother's face, my
dear. 1 am glad of that."
"Oh," cried Daisy, eagerly, "do you
reiiiemlier my mother'/"
"(Vrtalnly. I used to wish sin- was
a boy, that I might leave her luy
money. But girls are not of much con
sequence In this world. I had lust all
trace of poor Ethel. And so Silas
Wentworth Is dead? Hi- was a good
man, hui sadly wauling In energy."
"Ilow did you And me, Aunt Pallyf
'•That's a secret," mi odd twinkle in
her beady eyes. "By the way, I s.cyoii
1 wear a cameo brooch ihut was your
•tlier's. It was i ill In Italy Inlf a
utury ago. Do you know whose head
Yours. Aunt Putty."
The old woiiiun Ituglied softly.
I "Yes dear: thong i If dot* not bear
i much rcscuitdaiice to u,r now, Otic
. cbiuitft* In •*' Vi uD I In-re WI|I |W J
cut at the same time. I have always
kept the duplicate."
It was a charmed life that opened for
Daisy. The gay city, with all its at
tract.oils and uov, lties, se nie.l like en
chanted land. She was thoroughly
happy for the first time in her life.
Miss McLean appeared quite fond of
her, and her sweet dreams were never
interrupted by Mrs. Wentwortli's
sharp, rusplng voice.
Six weeks went by all too quickly,
and at last she was summoned to her
great-aunt's dressing-room.
"The limit of your stay lias expired,"
Miss McLean said, looking at her keen
ly. "I hope you have enjoyed your
self?"
"Very, very much!" Daisy answered,
her voice choking a little. "It was
very kind of you to Invite me here."
"You are ready to return home?"
"Whenever you think I hud better
go, dear aunt."
Two or three great drops fell down
the girl's pretty face. She wiped them
surreptitiously away, but not before j
the cunning old woman had seen them, j
"Daisy," she said abruptly, "what ,
if I were to ask you to remain?"
The girl sprang toward her with an (
impulsive little cry.
"Will you. Aunt Patty? Ob, I would ;
be so glad!"
"You can stay upon one condition.
I have learned to love you, but my
will is made, as I wrote you. It can
not be altered, even to please you. The
bulk of my fortune goes to my half
sister's son, a very worthy young man.
Daisy, you can remain as his wife! I
have communicated with liiui, and he
is very willing to consent to the ar
rangement."
Daisy grew very pale. Consent to
marry a man she had never seen? No, j
that would have been impossible, even j
if Max Delaney's image ilid not fill all
her heart.
"I must go," she said sailly. "There
is no other way."
"Walt until you have met my heir.
You might change your mind."
"Never!"
Poor Daisy dropped floods of tears i
into the trunk with the new clothes
Miss McLean's generosity had provid
ed.
At last, when the goodh.ves bad been j
spoken, she groped her way blindly |
down stairs. A gentleman stood near
the draw lng-room door. As she looked
up. a startled cry broke from her lips, j
"Max Delaney!"
"You here? How very strange!"
She blushed furiously, but as the '
young man opened bis arms. Daisy i
leaned her h ad up n bis should 'C with
a weary sigh.
"Are you glad to see nie, darling?" j
he whispered.
"Oh, very glad!"
"Then do you love me a little?"
"Yes," she answered, unable to keep
back the truth.
Just then Daisy heard a low laugh,
and looking up, saw Miss McLean
standing upon the landing, her kind
j old face beaming with delight.
"Y'ou might as well ring for the
j maid to take your wraps, my dear!"
she called out.
Daisy glanced bewiltleringly from
I the smiling woman to the handsome
| lover.
"What does she mean?"
"That you are never going back to
be abused by your shrewish stepmoth
er," Max answered. "Forgive me for
trying you so sorely, but it was Aunt
Patty's wish. I am her heir."
One week later, Mrs. Went worth re
i eetveil a large box of elotliing and
tiieknacks, but she hail seen tlie last of
Daisy herself.—Saturday Night.
Minting Italian Millions.
Italy is threatened with one of the
, most sensational scandals of the cen
; tury, a scandal which will attrJict at- j
; tentloli far beyond tlie borders of this ■
j country.
It lias transpired that the'late King !
| Humbert set aside out of his civil
: list a sum of 150,000 lire monthly for
distribution among the families of
| soldiers who died In the national wars,
j This amount in tlie aggregate to
some 40,000,000 lire (about (1,500,000
; pounds!.
Hut it also transpires that not one
' of the societies which attend to the
wants of disabled army veterans,
widows and orphans of soldiers, etc.,
: who received a iienny of this money,
I while there are known to be many
old soldiers and patriots lu a state t«.'
i absolute penury.
! The explanations of those who have
Imd to deal with tlie money are not
considered satisfactory, uiid an In
quiry will be opclieil llllti tile matter.
I London Mall.
Meslro Trying In liny Ainnrl CMII Horses.
The Mexican government Is the
last to enter the United Slates In
search for cavalry horses, and accord
lug to Manuel Alvarez of the City of
Mexico, who is at 1 lie A inert call
House here, his government is too
late to find such horses us lire suitable
for the purpose. Sciior Alvarez Is the
agent of the Mexican war department. 1
lb- has been through Arizona and
New Mukieo and 11 large part of Colo
ratio. The horses be wants must l*>
lint less than 15 I V! liuuds and not
more than Hi hands lilgli. anil of all
solid color, either black or dark brown, t
For suitable horses his government
pays from SOS to #I'JS, Heiior Alva re*
stiid that nearly all the burst-* which
were suitable for cu v airy men hail al
ready been l>oiiglit by Itiisslan. Ger
man and llnglisli agents Deliver Kit
publican.
One of the iiinsi universal fallings
111 regard to correct diet Is Ibe Iteglect
to til Ink enough w liter,
—i
[CHUpRENSCOLUMNj
Wliut Arn Little folks MndeOf.
"What are little folks made oflt
Sugar and spice
And everything nice,
That's what little folks art; made of."
Of all the queer things
That Mother Goose sings,
That is the queerest
As well as the dearest.
But I'd just like to add
Of each lass and lad
That love is the spice
That makes them so nice.
—Little Men ami Women.
Some Interesting I)oll».
The Queen of Itouuianiu was sponsor
for a peculiarly interesting exhibit
that was lately held in London for the
benefit of certain charities and hos
pitals. She placed 011 exhibition her
famous collection of dolls dressed in
the costumes countries. The
Queen ot" Holland herself dressed
some Dutch dolls; and. Indeed, (lollies
of every nation dressed as tine ladies
and as pheasants, were represented.
111 order that some distinctive Ameri
can dolls might be in the queen's
family, the New York Tribune offered
prizes for live typically American In
costume. Four "lady" dolls and one
"gentleman" doll took the prize. The
latter prize appropriately went to a
boy, a New Jersey lad. whose doll rep
resented "Uncle Sam" in gorgeous tit
tire. Of the others, one in rich bro
cade and fine cap represented Martha
Washington, one was a negro mammy
in white apron and brilliant turban,
a third was Priscilla, the Puritan maid
en in simple frock and hooded cloak,
the fourth was Pocahontas in beaded
dress and moccasins. Altogether the
American children can have no cause
to be ashamed of their exhibit
Tlie Itivers of Clilnn.
The rivers of China are her glory,
and there are few countries in the
world so well watered and none other
with such splendid natural water
transportation facilities. The three
great rivers of the empire are the
Vangtze-Klang (child of the ocean), the
lltmng I-Io (Yellow river) and the Chn
Kiting (Pearl river or Canton riveri.
Of these the Yangtze is much the larg
est. Ilowing through extensive and fer
tile plains and finally emptying into
the eastern sea. after traversing a dis
tance of over "000 miles. Its dis
charge is estimated at 1,000.000 cubic
feet per second. The banks of the
Yangtze are crowded with towns
and villages, the most famous of
which are Nankin and the new treaty
port of Ilankow. The Iloang no, or
Yellow river, is noted especially for its
frequent and violent floods. Its current
is very rapid and its course sinuous.
The Pearl, or Canton river, while pot
nearly so large as the others, is a
stream of great importance, says the
Kansas < Mty Star, and bnmmera Me ves
sels trade upon its waters. At some
points it spreads Into large lakes; in
others is passes between narrow gorges,
which if dammed, would afford
large storage capacity for irrigation.
The Chinese, however, have not prac
tically worked out Irrigation in its dif
ferent phases as completely as would
be expected of such an agrieultur.il
people.
Irrigation, nevertheless, is practiced
to a considerable extent through the
use of the waters of the Grand canal
and by wells. The Grand or Imperial
canal is a work of great magnitude.
It Wits constructed in the seventh cen
tury and enlarged in the thirteenth
century, it traverses the great plain
and flows with but slight current for
a distance of Too miles. While built
for purposes of communication, its
waters are used largely for Irrigation,
and thousands of drains and creeks
have been made to connect with It
along Its route.
The modes of Irrigation are ancient
and crude. One of the most pictur
esque is by means of tin* water wheel,
which Is used where the land to be
watered Is well above the channel of
the river. The wheel Is turned by the
force of the current and is perhaps
lit I fi-et high. It* buckets are sections
of haiiboo. which, as they are raised
by the motion of the wheel, empty
their contents Into throtiglis or ditch
es. Hollow hiinhoo pipes or tllbes are"
sometimes used for distributing water
over the Ileitis. They rest Upon wood
en supports ami branch lu every di
rection from the source of supply.
The chain pump Is also a common
means of lifting water, the chain run
ning up from the water on a slant
:t in I being provided with llllle buckets
al Intervals, which, as they reach the
highest point ami begin to dese -nil,
discharge their contents. These nia
elilucs are worked by buffaloes or
sometimes by human labor, a man
Working a crank with his feet some
thing after the manner of rhliug a
bicycle. The most primitive anil la
Itorlou* method Is the unfit-lit well
sweep, such as is seen tisluy on ninny
all ohl New Kligluud homestead.
A I till* lilrl'i » r llvrr liiinotls.
When Kee|M«r Mci'iirren's elephant
breaks Its chain* nud the coyote
Jumps over the bur* of Its 1 age. as
they have done aforetime. Instead of
pursuing with prods and wire lassoes
and having a tight to bring the mil
IIIHIS under Control the keeper should
sctul for Dorothy I'utuuii. ttve years
old. daughter of I'. 1' I'm nam of
Chicago, nud the wild beasts In ln-r
presence will In come trat tub 1
l.lttle Dcrutliy, all till ells tons of
It Herself, has a wonderful power over
ail sorts of aulmals anil birds, wild
and domestic. Unruly horses when
she approaches cease their balking anj
submit to the bit. Dogs which it Is
necessary to chain because of their
savageness allow her to pull their
tails, tweak their ears and then turn
about and lick her hand in gratitude.
Whenever she goes out. into the barn
yard on the farm of her father at
their summer home in Vermont, the
turkeys, the ducks and the chickens
follow her about as though she were
playing the pipe of I'an. The phoebe
that nests uinler the porch and the
catbird that builds in the lilac, brood
their young contentedly, while little
Dorothy with her fore-fingers strokes
their feathers.
Upon this Vermont farm from which
Dorothy Putnam has just returned
there is a particularly valuable cow,
valuable not only on account of Its
milk-giving qualities, but because of
the fineness of its strain of blood.
The cow unfortunately has a temper
that is in perfect proportion to its
money value. It is so thoroughly vi
cious a beast that two farm hands
are obliged to putin work equivalent
to a day's labor every time the crea
ture is milked. She is driven in
from the pasture, not peacefully as
go the rest of the herd, but only after
a hard and determined tight to break
through the cordon of dogs and men
that are urging her to the milking
shed. The man who undertakes the
milking operation has never been
able to pet his life Insured, and this
notwithstanding the fact that the cow
is both stanchioned and hobbled be
fore the three-legged stool and the
pall are adjusted.
One day Dorothy was taken down to
the field when the cows were being
driven home. She was at the extreme
left of the line of men and dog driv
ers when the vicious cow, making a
10-iger run than usual, attempted to
turn the left flank of the enemy by a
wild charge. Dorothy was directly in
line and was caught up just in time
by a man who rushed her away from
the danger point. Almost instantly
! the cow stopped, turned about and
j without making another break made
! her way peacefully to the barn, this
procedure astounded the hands. Aftci
i the milking was over and the cows were
! 1< ose orce more, the hit'iurto
savage c reature walked into the barn
yard. poked Ler head over a stone wall
ion the other side of which little
| Loroshy I-tram was •standing ind
gently mooed. The child gave It a
handful of clover and stroked its
muzzle. The next day Dorothy went
j to the milking shed and stood between
the double row of stanchions directly
: in front of"the crazy cow." While
she was there the creature was as
gentle as a lamb, and that night for
tiie first time she was milked without
being hobbled.
After this the cow was constantly
on the lookout for Dorothy, and when- |
ever she approached the pasture from
an adjoining field the creature would
go over, poke her head over the fence
and welcome the child in her own j
j way. Dorothy fed and petted hex j
strange pet and finally went fearlessly
into the field with it. The cow lit- j
orally became the < hild's guardian,
and resented the approach of any ;
other member of the herd. Dorothy j
used to lead the animal to the milk- !
iug shed, and when the fact became j
absolutely certain that the crcaturt i
was infatuated with the child Dorothy
was placed upon its back and allowed |
to ride It about just as she rode lier j
pet pony. Occasionally she would take
trips for some distance along the |
country roads, the cow behaving in j
a manner that put to shame the gentle j
actions of the stablest old family horse j
on the place.
All sorts of explanations are ofTered j
for the strange attachment of the cow |
for the child. It seemed that just be i
fore Dorothy's arrival the cow's calf |
had been taken away from her. She !
had mourned its loss with evidences ;
of almost human sorrow. She had al- j
i ways been vicious, but after the kill- :
lng of her calf she became positively j
dangerous. It was urged that the cow i
I had adopted Uorotby in the place ot
the calf. This hypothesis was spoiled. |
others declared, '»>' the fui 't of the
child's wonderful Influence over all
animals. When Dorothy rode alone
the country roads on her cow the ,
farmers' dogs. Instead of barking at
the usual spectacle of a COW with a |
rider, would wag their tails, follow
■ along In the wake of the cow and
make a part of the curious procession. ,
Dorothy has returned to her Chi* ;
cago home. It Is with a good deal of !
Interest tha: reports concerning tin
actions of her pet cow simv lier de
parture are awaited. The wonder U
whether tie creature will show evltl I
enees of loneliness while still remain
ing tractable or w ill return to her »U1
MI va we ways. Another thing that
Dorothy's friends are eurlollx ab ait Is
whether or not next year when she
returns to her Vermont homestead the
cow will recognize her otice more altd
lake up again the old ways. Chlcug"
Itecord.
Ifrr
"Is your wife a good cook?" asked
somebody of the yuUiig uiau who hud
I recently married.
"Well," replied lh ' proud young hus- j
bniul. thoughtfully, "she can boll water ,
without burning It." Hoimrvllle
IMUSS.I Journal.
There are now on the reservations hi j
New York stale 4«Cs» hidtnns, and «
missionary nay's at least litre eighths of
i lii-iii sdbic to tl -hi pa Kirn religion,
rliis ai d superstition*
THE GREAT DESTROYER
SOME STAR+LING FACTS ABOUT
THE VICE OF INTEMPERANCE.
Solomon's Advice The Significant An
swer* to a Query to Business Men
About Moderate Drinkers—Merchant*
liave No Patience With Tipplers.
"Look not upon the wine" when red,
Is what a wise man wisely said.
In language clear, distinct, and plain,
Advising all men to abstain.
For it had smitten with its sting
The peasant, prophet, priest, and king;
The holy men—the good and wise-
Were fallen as a sacrifice —«
Deceived, deluded by the snare,
Of which he bids us all beware,
And points us to the blood-stained shrine,
Which tells of thousauds mocked by wine;
Then holds forth clearly to the light
The tempter as it sparkles bright—
Reveals it in its colors true,
And brings its treachery to view—
Beseeching all to shun the wine,
The foe of statesman .uul divine;
For it is fraught with grief and pain,
And thousands yearly it has slain.
The joyous youth, the blushing bride,
Have drank and cursed it ere they died.
Oh. hearken unto Israel's king,
And shun the wine-cup's bitter sting!
• —Thomas R. Thompson, in the Temper
ance Banner.
Don't Want Men to Drink.
A lady in one of our large Western cities
jells how she prepared to contribute to
the interest of a temperance day in her
Sunday-school. She says:
"1 selected thirty of the leading busi
ness (inns of the city and addressed per
sonal letters to the head nf each firm. I
varied these notes according to the busi
ness, but the idea of all was the same,
viz.: 'ls there ror ::i in your line of
business for an exceptionally capable
voung man, who has every qualification for
business except that out of hours ho
drinks in moderation and with his
friends?' In some of these letters I
made straight application for positions, in
others I asked advice regarding such a
young man's prospects of busia?ss suc
cess; in others I asked the question wheth
er in selecting their employes, the firm
made any inquiries concerning the drink
ing habits of applicants, and if so whether
it was to their prejudice that they drank
in moderation. 1 wrote to insurance com
panies asking what risks they took oil
drinking men. I wrote to wholesale mer
chants, editors, college presidents, bank
ers, lumbermen, wheat men, heads of
public institutions—surely a mixed and
motley crew, from which I might well
expect a variety of answers. I forgot
to mention with the rest the general man
agers of three important railroads.
"Now listen; in five days I had an
swers from every man but one, and af
terwords I learned that he was out of
the city until some time later, when he
told me that he still wanted to be repre
sented and would give me an answer. In
five days those thirty men had responded
each for himself and without knowledge
of the others, and all the same story.
Not one had any time or us} for men in
their business who drank."
These letters were read before t)'•>
school, a good reader having been chosen
for each one, and the result would eer
| tainly be an impressive and effective scr-
I vice.—Presbyterian Banner.
Beer Drinking ami ISusiness.
Two glasses of beer a day ac live cent 3
t each is $30.50 a year.
I This represents about forty-five gallons
of beer and about three and three-quarter
j bushels of barley. For this barley the
J farmer gets less than sl.. r io.
i The balance of the drinking man's S.MSO
1 stays in the hands of the brewer and
, liquor seller. The drinker has swallowed
| his beer ar.d has nothing of value to show
i for his money. He may have weaker
i nerves, a less clear brain and a dangerous
: appetite, but these we leave out of cal
! culation now, and say he has liteially
NOTHING,
i Close the saloons and the workingman
! saves his &10.50, which can IK." spent in
needful articles at home. Bread, butter,
' cheese, meat, vegetables, woolen clothes,
that it would purchase, are all directly
| or indirectly the produce of the farm. If
we allow the manufacturers and dealers
1 in the articles forty per cent, of the sell
ing price for profits, the farmer will still
' get $'21.90. the traders have sl4 00, and
the workingman has hud something to
show for his money.—James B. Dunn, D.
j 1)., General Secretary National Teniper
i ance Society.
Don't I.lks the Name.
' A movement is now on foot among the
j liquor organs of the country to discard the
! term saloon as applied to the liquor busi
-1 ness. The reason for this movement is
; given in the following brief paragraph
! from an editorial in the Wine and Spuß
; News published at Columbus, Ohio. The
editor of that paper says:
"Through the fanatical agitation against
1 the liquor traffic the term (saloon) asso
ciates itself in the general mind with the
word groggery, which tin- older of us re
member "as m pretty general use at one
time, and sounded as harsh as 'saloon'
does now. We can institute a reform in
this matter. Let's not recognize the word
I 'saloon' at all. It isn't recognized in any
I other country, and it ought not to be her- .
Let's say liquor store, as we say dr u
•tore, hat store, etc.; say li juor mtrchui''
or liquor dealer."
"Htruiiß Drink"—'The llantl—Tti
111 opening a bn/aal at Falkirk
Surgeon Major Sir Oeoige S»ol
son said: "Lust rear he went
' India, and was there for a feu
and during that time he lived gr
famous military club, in the ve:
oi the laigest cantonment in 1
was very much ..urprised to tin
great many of the young oflU
came into lunch drunk ginger be.
of these officers were famous t
skill at polo ami other sports, am.
of them he remarked on the ch
their habits. The ivply he rueeive>
'We tiud till*, thai at polo e»|iecial
i you take alcohol you cannot maLc
i hau l and your eye Work propel ly
1 getlicr.' "
In the Itniii tsulws.
All old soldier, uho had MWI niueh set
lice in India, and »erv much of the do
j mi'laluitig and fatal effects of MtoXicanU.
as svldouced l«v the tact that almost i-verjf
I man who fell into trouble m ihe regiment
I tell through dunk, declared that, * licit
ever a barrel »a» rolled into the canteen
it Has usual to remark "I aoiider how
uiauy court luartials are in that
Missionaries, Hum ami Uu»|w«il»f.
I>j| every missionary landed in All'*
are landed 7tl,<aa> ia»ks of rum. |o . ( . , ~i
ol gill and fifteen tun* ol gUMMwdet 'I his
Is li'iM the Oaik tout leiltl is Isuig uwl
utd <4 Christians I'