THE ROOTING SWINE.
S nouts to ground from thei ir hour of birth,
See them dig as they go their way
Mor tals giving the high gods mirth;
Clods more coarse than the hills ide clay,
Fit alone for the graveworm’s pre)
Drunk with the fumes of a br atis
Thesé but the will of self obey,
Soulless hordes of the rooting swine.
Such is the average of earth,
Out from their Tnuddy sties they st
Reek in dullness and wax in girth, ©
Buy and barter, and cheat 2nd pay,
Ever among the muckheaps stay, 3
And i on husk and carrion dine, 2
NuZzling lown to the dirt for.aye— :
Soatloss | hordes of the rooting swine.
These, indeed, are of little worth
Foot it and flax th
Naught atomes for t
Riches, vanity, nor die
These shall pass m a slow 3
As rotting mackerel stink and shine,
Forpoit en, even on judgment
Soulless hordes of the rooting
’ ENVOY.
Prince! . "Twas a minstrel old and gray,
He struck his harp and his eyes met
mine;
He looked at the crowds and I he:
say:
“Soulless hordes of the rooting swine.’
—Ernest McGaffey, in the St. Louis ror
The
7 Racks
Cousin.
ray,
swine.
ard him
again
as be-
many
years has Cousin Jim been
NG. ANDY, he's coming
¥ ) this year the same
© Vi GQ fore. About how
SLOR™ coming here to stay the
summer?”
“Twenty, counting the last stop—
November;
and a half
which was from
really, that mak
times your Co
May until
Ss twenty
n Jim has visited us.
He began early and stayed late the last
time, you know. What has Jim Fos-
dyke got to say this time, Silas?”
“Same old thir Mandy: same old
thing. Jim never changes his tune;
works on my feelings and tells about
how he longs to visit the old nooks
and corners of the farm once more.
Speaks in a fetching sort of way about
the old swimming hole down under the
willows: also grips me tighter than a
burr about the fishing place below the
mill dam, where he once yanked out a
four-pound pike with a minnow hook.
Jim's got the same old gift of drawing
folks to him
old
that he always had. Poor
boy! He has not changed a bit
since he went to the city to build up
a fortune. He's cut out for a bachelor
and will always go it alone to the end.
If he was married and was going to
bring along a haughty wife and a lot
of fresh and saucy children I'd think
different about his coming here year
after year. The poor, lonesome old
boy clings to the place if he got
barrels of money; I can’t say. as he
as
throws his wealth around when he
does come——""
“Only pays ordinary price “for board,
that’s all and no more. I will say this
about Cousin Jim—he never finds any
fault with things; he never complains;
warm meals or cold, they're all the
same to Jim. He really seems to en-
joy plain fare the best, and always tells
me not to fuss with fancy dishes. He
crawls up the narrow stairs to the
little chamber without a murmur. Some
rich old bachelors who live most of the
year in high-toned hotels and fashion-
able boarding houses would find lots
of fault. He don’t; he’s common like
and easy to please; just likes to take
off his coat and loaf around; hangs
on the fence as though he was watch-
ing the grass grow; loves to sit on the
stoop in the evening like any poor
man listening to the tree toads and
frogs. Silas, your Cousin Jim bas
never risen a peg above you if he has
got barrels of money. Poor Jim, I saw
he was ailing when he was here the
last time. Perhaps that was the rea-
son why he came so early and stayed
so late.”
“I don’t like to write and tell him
that crops look poor, and that we are a
little pinched, and don’t really care for
company this i
“Don’t you do it, Silas; don’t you do
it. Why, that would, be cruel and
wrong; and it would break the poor
old bachelor's heart. You are the only
one he bas got left of the old stock in
these parts; the rest are all gone to
the city. Silas, Cousin Jim just pines
for the sight of your face, and the old
place where you and he were boys
together. It is like a heaven with him
to get back here with you and the dear
old familiar things he loves so much.
Now you sit right down and tell him
we will be tickled to see him again.
Tell him the apple trees are bumping
up against the window of the little
chamber: tell him that the grass is
greener than ever, that the snowball
bush hangs heavy, and that the roses
Were never so sweet. You might tell
him that my last churning was the best
£ 5. ever turned out since we got the new
“cows. Mention a word about my
“faiged biscuits and say a little some-
~#hirg - about the bees and the nice
honey. 1t will come like a breath from
‘the old sweet home when poor Cousin
Jim reads all that. He will hardly
be able to wait, poor boy!”
x * = * ES x *
It was theesame old home-coming,
only: Cousin Jim hunched over a little
more in the buggy as Silas drove
from the station through the shady
lanes of maples leading to the little
farmhbouse ensconced among the apple
trees at the further end.
During the short drive he said but
little, and when Silas- asked him a
question he hesitated, faltered and
rubbed his chin before replying. When
Old Gray turned down the lane where
the robins were singing and the squir-
rels chippering, a trace of the old light
came back to the old bachelor’s” eyes
and the faded, sunken cheeks glowed a
little.
+Si,”” he murmured, laying his thin
i
the other's knee, “let me
Gray home through the |
hand upon
drive Old
lane.”
The lines hung listlessly from his
hands as the old mare slowly walked
along ‘the familiar place toward the
house, where Mandy stood in the door-
way with a glad
overspreading her kindly face.
when the horse halted at the block, he
said, handing over the lines:
“I think I have been Jdfiving: right
into Heaven, Si.”
“Why, Cousin Jim,.I am sor glad to
see you again. It seems so like old
times to see you and ‘Silas driving
home: through the lane; . And: the
good woman came forward, with both
hands outstretched. Her eyes grew
moist when she saw how feeble the
old bachelor cousin was.” She and
had to almost lift him from the
buggy. and her strong arms supported
the frail form as he walked with
dragging steps up the gravel walk and
into the cool, flower-scented parlor, His
eyes roved about the quiet place and
he sighed:
+ Heaven,
“You lie
Silas
Heaven at last!”
$ right down on’ the couch.’
Cousin Jim, and take a nap while I
get supper... I'1 call you in time to
wash and freshen up. I'm going to
have some raised biscuits and honey—
you always liked that? :
The tired man laid his head back and
murmured: .
“Dear Mandy! I am so glad to got
badk home again. I will rest for a
few moments. I am so tired—and so
—so0 happy to get home—home!” Mandy
went out and closed the parvior door.
“This must be Heaven—at last. It is
so still, so sweet, so nice. To-morrow
I will go down to the mill dam; I will
zo to the old swimming hole under the
willows once more, where dear old Si
and I used to swim. will sit on the
stoop in the cool of the evening, and—
I will be at home once more »i the
good and true and unselfish ones.”
And thus he murmured as he drifted
into the land of sweet dreams. At
rest, finally, there in the cool, flower-
scented parlor of the little farmhouse,
afar from the noise and bustle of the
city.
The bees buzzed among the lilacs,
where the humming birds whirred; the
apple blossoms bunted against the
blinds and the fragrant petals fell
upon the sleeper’s face—but he did not
stir. He was dreaming of the dear
old days of boyhood, days filled with
jor and delight and sweetness.
Then the good angel of the old man’s
dreams came in a chariot of silver, and
his eyelids were touched with a magie
wand. He roved in green pastures,
where blue cloud-fleeced skies hent:
and he wandered by crystal streams in
the cool shady woodlands where birds
made glad the fragrant breezes of the
summer day of unending bliss.
And then—then it was no.longer a
dream.. Oh, the! glory ofvit: alll It
was a blessed reality. .
“Jim!”
There came no response from the old
man on the couch.
“Silas, come quic
with. poor Jim.”
They approached the couch and
looked down upon the face. The tired
look had disappeared. There was a
smile: instead. Cousin Jim was no
longer ill—he was at regt. peacefully at.
rest. And-all was well with him.
The city relatives wailed when his
will was read. The good and true
ones who had loved him to the end,
the kindly ones who lived in the little
house at the end of the lane—Jim had
given all to them.—New York Times.
Al is not well
Timely Hinis on Giving.
We should not give people things
they do not want.
‘We should avoid giving anybody the
mumps or the chicken- -pox if we can
help it.
Do not give a friend the cold shoul-
det without baked beans and hot cof-
fee to go with it,
A man should not give a lady a kiss
unless he thinks she would enjoy it,
except in the case of his wife and his
mother-in-law.
Do not give red suspenders to a to-
tal stranger; he might prefer those of
a pale blue shade instead.
Do not present a bucking broncho to
a tall, pale man of sedentary habits,
as he would not likely live long to en-
joy it.
When you give castor oil to a howl-
ing infant give it for its intrinsic
worth and not merely as an evidence
of your regard.—Lippincott’s.
Radium in His Mouth.
William Hoffman, of Newark, is in
New York undergoing treatment for
cancer by radium. Mr. Hoffman has
a cancerous growth in his upper jaw
and was operated on last summer in
Rochester. It was pronounced incura-
ble. The treament with radium is said
to have already improved his condi-
tion, and his recovery is expected.
The radium used in his treatment
cost $300. It is sealed in a vial a quar-
ter of an inci in diameter by one and
{hree-quarter inches long, and the ra-
dium dust that fs visible to the eye is
equal in size to about half a pin head.
When held in a dark room the vial
ives out a lustrous white light. The
vial is held in the mouth and against
«
the diseased part of the jaw every
other day for twelve minutes, The
radium is supposed to destroy. the
cancer germs.—New York World,
Our Indian Pupils.
Estelle Reel, superintendent of In-
fu
at the
1 r
1 schools,
of pupils
reports th
last
!
{
}
{
i
|
a
smile of welcome
Then,.:
enroll-
bassy in
! killed
‘ building until the
ment I: year was nearly}
29,000, and the employes in Indian
school work Paw increased from 221
in 1877 to almost 3000. oe Indians
have under ¢ a iviation twenty-five per:
cent. land than in 1! 290. Those
wearing citizens’ dress have increased
in the same time from 118,196 to 143
more
974: the number that can speak Eng «
lish from 2 2 to 62,6 and the
number of dwelling houses from 19,104
| to 26,629.
s Victuals
Crying Down One’s
By Kate Thorn
+ 1
where the lady of the
E suppose you have all visited at some place w
house was in the habit, at every meal, of crying down her
victuals?
She never wants company unless she knows they are coming,
because, as everybody krows, she wants a day or two in which
to prepare for.them. Ge does not suppose anybody thinks ihis
is the reason she. wants to know; she thinks. that they imagine
it is because she shall be away from home.
And the mistaken soul, ‘after fretting, and sw eating g,.and stews
ing over the cooking, stove for a day or two. and ransacking her
brains and her larder to provide something new under the sun in the eatable
line, is ready when Ler guests come and seat themselves at her groaning
tea tahle-Sroaning beneath the weight of good things—she i is ready to cry down
her victuals, and wish, in a mélancholy tone, and with a lugubrious expression
cf countenance, that she had something fit to eat!
She had such bad luck tvith her cookery. The mixing milk was too sour,
and the yeast wasn't good, dnd the grocer-must have cheated her when he sold
her the eggs for newly-laid. "She’ll wager anything they have been laid for a
month, for she never knew her recipe far sponge cake to fail, if the eggs were
only good.
Of course, her Hosts hasten to assure her that there
sponge cake any better tlran: hers; and she smiles sadly, and tells them they
ought to eat the sponge cake she can make when the eggs are fresh.
She is sorry the cream pie is burned—but her stove is getting so thin at the
back of the oven that no dependence can be put in it. She must have a new
stove. If there is anything that aggravates her beyond measure, it is to have
a pie burned. And-a cream pie hyve all others! 1f is so much work and ex-
pense to make cream pies.
Nobody has noticed that the pie was burned, and everybody hastens to tell
her so, and to add that they thought it was perfeetiy delicious.
Then the poor woman begins on the doughnuts. She used to be a good
wand at making doughnuts, she says; but somehow or other she seems to have
lost her luck, lately. - Or else it is in the yeast. She can’t tell which. Some-
thing is at fault. It is so provoking to have bad luck with doughnuts. It is
such a hot, uncomfortable job to fry doughnuts in a warm kitchen. She would
as lief take a licking any time. And it scents the house up so, too. Smells
like a fat-boiling establishment for a week.
And then all the guests feel mean and uncomfortable, somehow; as if they
were to blame about something, and as if the sin of making their hostess’
house smell like a fat-boiling establishment rested on their individual shoulders.
Now, this woman who cries down her victuals knows that everything on
her table is just as good as it can be made, and she has formed this habit of
decrying it because she likes to have her cookery praised.
Praise is sweet to us all, and almost every woman—perhaps every woman—
likes to hear her victuals well spoken of.
But the “proof of the pudding lies in the eating,” and when guests “feed”
well, then the lady of the house may be sure that her cooking is perfect.
And we don’t want to go to tea very often at the Louse where the mistress
tells us, on sitting” down at the table, “that she does wish she had something
fit to eat,” and adds, when we arise therefrom, “I fear you didn’t make much
of a supper. Well, I don’t blame you! 1 s'pose you didn't like my victuals?’—
New York Weekly.
£7 7
[n Defense of Gravy
By Charles Petty,
ITH great patience and the stoic silence of an Indian I have list
ened to the foolish utterances of the people who have made
suggestions as to health foods, and who tell us what we shouid
eat and what we should not:eat.” I have meekly submitted to
all their vagaries, and have gone so far as to experiment with
some of the health giving and youth restoring preparations. I
been told time and again that there were dyspepsia and ultimate
in hot biscuits, crisp and melting. Then it was deciared that the
and that watér for drinking purposes’ should
Coffee, tea, pure sp ring or weil water, hot food of all
sorts] white flour, hog meat, lard, the dear: delicious pies, "wafiles, butter
cakes, : hot muffins,’ puddings,” chicken pie,. pi&’s head and cabbage were all
said to cause dire diseases and ‘tor work havoc: in the. human stomach. . With
Job-like patience I have endured all this and continued to ‘thrive on the for-
iidden foods. But a point has been reached when the line has to be drawn.
Submission is no lenger a virtue, but a, sign of ‘weakness and cowardice.
tecently Senator Pettus, of Alabama, who, is old enough to know Uuetter,
has placed gravy on the list of interdicted foods. He has certainly been be-
guiled into trying some of the sc-called gravy found in Washington restau-
rants. The memory of his boyhdod days has been shadowed. Can he not
call to mind when in the. 'dim ‘and misty past he mingled red ham gravy
with his rice or hominy? Did he never spread cream ham gravy on his hot
biscuits, when taste and delicious odor united to delight his palate? When
we say ham gravy, we mean gravy from a ham-—not a ball of grease sent
out: from Chicago under the name cof kam—but a_ ham proper from the hog
that grew up inthe woods in a half. wild condition, In the fall of the year
he is penned and fed on corn a few weeks. © When the hams are properly
salted and smoked with a combina tion of c¢orncobs and hickory wood the
product is a ham.
Tas the Senator forgotten all that? Did the Senator ever taste the juices
of a tender broiled steak with which there was a liberal allowance of fresh
vellow butter? Or whilé waiting for his seniors when company came to his
home, did he ever go to the kitchen and “sop out” the skillet in which the
chicken was fried? Or, perchance, did he.ever from the bottom of the pot
in which a chicken pie was cooked scoop out that delicious mixture of crust,
gravy and butter which had been commingled in the cooking until it was a
morsel suc as the Olympian gods never tasted?
In his youthful days the Senator must have enjoyed at divers times a
bowl of turkey gravy. For hours the turkey, perhaps a wild one with a pe-
culiar gamy taste, was roasting and the juices were distilling from it, and
mingling with the aroma of sage, pepper and other condiments until its like-
ness was not to be tasted on earth or in the heavens above or in the waters
under the earth.
Have all these delights vanished from the venerable Senator's memory.
He may fly off on any political tangent he pleases, or he may rush out on
a hyperbolic curve and never return to his original path, and we will bear
with him. He may even place eggnogg under ban and declare positively
against ‘possum and yam potatoes, and he may set home-made Southern
sausage, big hominy and hog jowl and turnip salad aside as unsavory and
unpalatable, but when he rules gravy, such as the old-time Southern cooks
know how to make, out of the category of delightful foods he flies in the
face of our traditions and does violence to our fondest recollections,
7 7 z
The Sultan’s Iron Hand
Incidents That Show How the Turkish
never could be any
LL
of Scuth Carolina
have
death
use of salt was most injurious,
be distilled or boiled.
Ruler Mysteriously Disposes of His
Enemies
By Henry Thompson :
HINGS get done in the Sultan's realm—things like the mas-
sacres of 1895 in Asiatic Turkey and 1903 in Macedonia—
which come home to the consciousness of every thinking
Turk.
Take the case of the Koordish Sheikh Obeidullah, who
was ,a guest of the Sultan for a time in 1883 and was after-
wards sent to Mecca in oraer that pious occupations might
keep him out of mischief, He died very soon after his
arrival, of cholera, it was officially announced, although he
was the only sufferer. frein cholera in Mecca that year.
Take the case of Mithad Pasha, the liberal Prime Minister and the
pion of Parliamentary government, He was tried for treason in ai(
cham-
g 19
dethrone Sultan Abdul Aziz; and was sent to Taif, near Mecca. After a
time he died rather suddenly. By and by a man who had been a soldier in
Arabia appeared in Constantinople babbling a tale that ended with, “I did
not know that it was Alithad Pasha or I would not have put the soaped cord
about his neck.” Of course the police saw that the man was crazy and put
Lim where he was safe from harm.
Take the case of Said Pasha, ex-Grand Vezir
Constentinopie seven or eight years
allowed asylum, and who could
Ambassador brought him a f«
seal.
who fled to the British Em-
declaring that he would be
not be induced to leave the
1 safety sealed
ago,
unless
promise of
with the Sultan's own
Meditation upon this class of mysteries ple shake in their
shoes every time that they see one of the great naid informers who
know about everyth Men do not say tha g 1 does the
which cause this trepidation, but t l i
of the “palace” as though it were
ehind t
100K D
they speak of it they
wipe a clammy sv
tle boy, I am the Fairy
WHEN.
When cherries grow on apple trees,
nd kittens wear lace caps,
And boys their sisters never tease,
And. bears jvear woolen ‘wraps;
When, all the nursery dolls and toyi
pegin to dance and play,
Then little girls and little boys
May lie in bed all day.
When donkeys, learn_to sing and dance,
When pigs talk polities;
When London is a town in France,
When two and two make six;
When drops of rain are real pearls,
“hen coal is clear and white;
Then little boys and little girls
May sit up late at night.
—G. Clifton Bingham.
THE FAIRY LAMPS,
There was once a bare-legged, brown-
limbed boy who spent all his time in
the woods. He loved the woods and
all that was in them. He used to look,
not at the flowers, but down deep into
them, and not at the singing bird, bu
into its eyes, to its little heart; and so
he got an insight better than most oth-
&'s, and he quite gave up coliceting
birds’ eggs.
But the woods were full of mysteries
He used to hear little bursts of song.
and when he came to the place he conld
find no bird there. Noises and move-
ments would just escape him. In the
woods he saw strange tracks, and one
day, at length, he saw a wonderful
bird making these 4raciks. He had
never seen the bird before, and would
have thought it a great rarity, had he
not seen its tracks everywhere. So he
learned that the woods were full of
beautiful creatures that were quick
and skillful to avoid him.
One day as he passed by a spot that
he had been to a hundred times he
way again shone the soft light. It
grew brighter, till in the middle of it
he saw the little brown lady—the Fairy,
of the Woods. But she was not smil-
ing now. Her face was stern and sad
as she'sai@: “I fear I set you overhigh.
I thought you better than the rest.
Keep this in mind:
* “Who reverence not the'lamp of iife
can never see. its: light”
Then she faded from his
nest Thompson Seton, in the
HOW AN ANT GOES TO BED.
Of course ants go to bed. and if you
rateh them you may see them do it.
An ant hill is made of tiny pebbles,
which are piled about an entrance
hole, At night the ants take these peb-
bles in their mouths and, carrying
them to the hole, pile them one upon
the other, as men build a wall
After the hole is filled up. except one
tiny i place “at the top. the. last: ant
crawls in, and with her head. pushes
sand up against the hole from the. in-
side, thus stopping it up-entire]y. Then
all night not an, ant ill bo.sean, but
about S o'clock the next morning, if one
looks very closely, one may sce a pair
of tiny feel thrust cut through the
clinks between the stones. Then an
ant yshies its -way out and begins to
carry the pebbles away. Just behind
the first comes another, and another
until the whole family comes’ jour-
neving out. }
But an ant does not sleep through
the whole night; she takes a nap two
or three hours long. She does not
have to undress, but whenever she gets
tired she lies down on the ground,
curls ler six legs close up to her body,
PICTURE
PUZZLE.
and seeing: an ant
-
i : THE DOVE AND THE ANT,
A dove went to a cool and shady brook te! drink,
struggling in the water vainly striving to reach the bank,
blade of grass upon
ashore.
dove, and as one of them was about
The angry rascal turned his head and the dove flew away.
other hunter?
she threw down a
which the antscrambled, and, clinging to it, drifted
Just then two scampish hunters slyly creeping by came upon the
to shoot, the ant bit him on the heel.
Where is the
—From Brooklyn Eagle.
found a bird's nest. It must have been
there all the time, and yet he had
not seen it; and so he learned how
blind he was and exclaimed: ‘Oh, if
only I could see, then I might under-
stand these things! If only I knew! If
I could see but for once how many
there are and how near! If only every
bird would wear over its nest this
evening a little lamp to show me!”
The sun was down now; but all at
once there was a soft light on the
path, and in the middle of it the brown
boy saw a little brown lady in a long
robe and in her hand a rod.
She smiled pleasantly and said: “Lit-
of the Woods.
I have been watching you for long.
I like you. You seem to be different
from other boys. Your request shall
be granted.”
Then she faded away. But at once
the whole landscape twinkled ever
with wonderful little lamps—long
lamps, short lamps, red, blue and
green, high and low,. doubles, singles
and groups; wherever he looked were
lamps—twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, here
and everywhere, until the forest shone
like a starry night. He ran to the
nearest, and there, sure enough, was a
bird’s nest. He ran to the next; yes,
another nest. And here and there each
kind of lamp stood for another kind
of nest. A beautiful purple blaze in a
low tangle caught ‘his eye. He ran
there and found a-nest he had never
seen before. It was full of purple eggs,
and there was the rare bird he had
seen but once. It was chanting the
weird song he had often heard, but
never traced. But the eggs were the
marvelous things. His old egg-eqllect-
ing instinct broke out. He rushed
forth to clutch the wonderful prize,
and—in an instant all the lights went
out. There was nothing but the black
woods about him. Then on the path-|
and goes to sleep so soundly that you
could brush her with a feather without
waking her, When she has had her
sleep out she gets up, stretches her
legs and yawns. Then she washes her-
self carefully all over.. After that she
is ready for her day’s work again, and
a busy day she has, too—tending the
babies, making new rooms or gelling
food for the big family.
SCHOOLBOY ANSWERS.
Jere are some of the schoolboy an-
swers to examination papers collated
by University Correspondence in Eng:
land:
“John Wesley was a great sea cap-
tain. He beat the Dutch at Waterloo,
and by degrees rose to be the Duke of
Wellington. He was buried near Nel-
son in the poets’ corner at Westminster
Abbey.”
Asked to name six animals peculiar
to the Arctic region, a boy replied:
“Three bears and ahree seals.”
“The Sublime Porte is a very fine old
wine.”
“The possessive case is the case when
somebody has got yours and -won't
give it to you.”
“The plural of penny is twopenece.”
“In the sentence, ‘I saw the'zoat butt
the man,” ‘butt’ is a conjunction, be-
cause it shows the connection between
the goat and the man.”
“Mushrooms. always
places, and so they
brellas.”
“The difference between water and
air is that the air can be made wetter.
but water cannot.”
grow in. damp
look like wum-
i
In Indian Territory there are 13.864
Indian scholars enrolled in the public
schools. Of these 5383 are in the Cher-
okee Nation, 2754 in the Creek. 4783
in the Choctaw and 939 in the Chick-
asaw, :
ne
He Tool
Hidde
an Of
Lose
Br
who rece
reached
Unitariar
the chur
tion to f
preacher
‘Light o
Job iii:
whose wi
“The F
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tion thi
question
far dow
who is 1
Job h
countrys
for his +
Oppresse
broken
ruined.
thouseho
all dedc
ten chil
will tak
a wom:
a tower
who gh
“Curse |
Two
have s
pain. ]
tion ek
dissatis
Juestic
I;
and le
begin
seems
the ti
smitte
great
princi