MAKE TOUR MARK. In the quarries should you toil, Make your mark; t)o you delve upon the soil, Make your mark; In whatever path you go, lu whatever place you stand, Moving swift or moving slow, "With a firm and honest hand, Make your mark. Bhould opponents hedge your way, Make your mark; Work by night or work by day, Make your mark, Struggle manfully and well, Let no obstacles oppose, None, right-shielded, ever fell By the weapons of his foes. Make your mark. What though born a peasant's son; Make your mark; Good by poor men can be done; Make vour mark. / Peas.nils' garbs may worm the cold; Peasants' words may calm a fear; Better far than hoarding gold Is the drying of a tear; Make your mark. Life is fleeting as n shade; Make your mark; Murks of some kind must be made; Make your mark; Make ir while the arm is strong, In tbo golden hours of youth; Never, never make it wrong; Make it with the stamp of truth; Make your murk. —[Davit! Barker, j "HAVE YOU SEEN MOSES.'" BY EVELYN RAYMOND. It was the saddest sound I ever heard. The first day it set my mind continually wandering from the work in hand; on the second it exasperated me; but on the J third I felt that I must answer the mournful question in the affirmative or go mad. 1 "Have you seen—Mose-s?" Over and over again, with its pathetic iteration, its little catching of the breath | before the final word, and that emphasis < upon the second one which made it such ' a personal matter. I heard it from the t bar across the hall, from among the . group of loungers on the hotel stoop, beside me at the post-olfice window, all up and down the straggling street — everywhere throughout the small mining town in which the interests of my em ployers had stranded me. To the credit of my kind I must say that I rarely heard an impatient retort given to the appealing inquiry. Bough < miners would break oil in the middle of 1 an oath and answer with uulooked-for < gentleness: "No, Pop; I hain't seen i him." Some would merely smile and shake their heads kindly, and one exceptional brute would thrust his hand in Ins vest pocket —the abomination of the chestnut bell had just gravitated to Booinville and ring his little admonition in the other's ear. He lad done this for the second time within my hearing and 1 within the space of an hour, when I could bear it no longer. 1 wheeled around from the table, strewn with the com pany's maps and charts, and demanded, savagely: "Who is that man, and what does he mean by that eternal question?" j The landlady—she was landlord as well, her hu-buud being a poor thing with good clothes on—stoppod dusting and looked at me gratefully. She had disturbed my solitude unceremoniously enough, and I had at first resented it; till I found out that the poor creature: had come "from Cawndord way," and was suifering for news f far-off New Hampshire. After satisfying her to the best of inv ability, and having regretfully assured her that I did not know "the Dows from 'round Coontoocook," she had still hovered near me. She felt, no doubt, that I had almost the claim of re lationship upon her hospitality because 1 had passed through Concord on my way to the West, and had hail the goo 1 for tune to be born among the granite hills of her native State. She sat down near me. "The poor fellow is—well, nobody knows, exactly. He came t> Booinville some months ago. He had a son with him, and he told me that it was on account of the boy's health, i He bought a little tract of land out to ward the gulch, and put up a shanty. He didn't seem to care much whether lie made any money or not. If the boy felt like work, work it was; if he didn't, it was all one to his father. So it 'poured, any way. He was the handsomest young chap that ever set foot in this city"—the "city" boasted one street and a few houses—"but any one could see at a glance that he wasn't right in his head." , "Insanity?" "No; it didn't pear that way. I kind of picked it out that the boy, Moses, had been at college and overworked." " What did you say the man's name was?" "I didn't say. I don't know. That's, the worst of it—nobody knows. The old man—though I ought not to call him that, for he isn't more than fifty—used i to say to the boy: 'Mose-s'—same's you i hear him now—but the bov himself never was heard to say anything that folks I could understand." " Yet. when they bought their land there must have been some name revealed ( in the transaction." "I sup - .-L' there was. Only the com pany he dealt w'uh all went to smash n few days aiterv. ird, and theiragent van ished. Tliey didn't have any more right i to the land, anyhow, than you or I have, and you know how much that is. No- | body molested the pair, and they would | have been there yet if it hadn't have been ' for the cyclone." "Did it blow their wits away?" It was such tedious work getting at th few fncts <,f the old man's story, that I was fast iosi, g mv patience. The lan llady looked at me in mild re- j proach, as if I had jo-ted with a sacred i subject. I found that 1 had. "That is exactly what it did do." "What!" 1 cried, in astonishment. The woman seemed to expect me to be lieve her startling statement. "That is exactly what it did do," she 1 repeated with grave distinctness. "it swept through the gulch, and ther.- wasn't much dirt left w hen it got done its work, now I can tell you. After j ward, when the men from here went up to the camp to see if anybody was left alive, they found 'Pop' lying in the bot tom of the canon. They thought he WHS dead at first, and started to bring him into town just to bury him; but .lim Corson, the veteri ary, he said that he reckoned there was some little life left in the man, and after he had worked over him a spell he found that he was right. We pieced it out that he had been blown off the bluff where his cabin had stood and landed in the ravine; but whatever became of 'Mose-s,' no one has heard from that day to this. 'Pop'—he goes by that name everywhere now, seeing that he doesn't know any other—was sick inore'n a month right hero in this house. I tended him, and I never heard him gaj one thing the whole 'during time, only just that heart-breakin' ques tion: 'Have you seen—Mose-s?' lie had struck his head, and every other idee 'pcarcd to have left it except that he had lost his boy and must find him. Here he comes, now. Be kind to him, neigh bor; how do we know but that ho hails from Cawncord? " How, indeed? Yet, even without that recommendation to my sympathy, I should have been "kind" to the harm less mental wreck whom chance had thrown in my path. He attached himself to me from the beginning, and in a short time became the constant companion of my walks, j He was always silent, save for that pitiful i ouery, which* it is quite likely I heard less ! man any one else, but which after a long interval of silence he would suddenly | propound. He would toss back the iron- j I gray locks from his worn face and look up i into my eyes with that wide, wondering I glance of his: "Have you—seen Mose-s?" ! I and would impassively receive my sor rowful. negative shake of the head. Evidently lie expected no other reply;] that is, if his brain had any power of. expectation let within its convolutions. 1 When I left Booinville I parted with "Pop" with real regret. Ho was so j I patient, so faithful, so unobtrusive, that | j his society was more like that of some dc- j j voted animal than of any human being; i ! and those who have lived much with the , j companionship of a favorite dog or horse j will understand that there are times j when their silent presence is vastly ] j more agreeable than that of one's own ; kind. As I journeyed farther into the wild-. 1 sometimes meeting not more than on >r j two fellow-creatures in the course of long day's ride, I found myself recurrii . with strange persistence to "Pop'- pathetic story, and half impelled to a -k of each traveler whom I met: "Have you i seen —Mose-s?" I do not now remember when it was impressed upon me that I should yet "see Mose-s;" but I became imbued with the idea very shortly after leaving Boom ville. I did not go about making the in quiry which now seemed so natural to me, but I kept my eyes and ears well ( open. If Moses were still alive—and, | probable as it might be, no proof of his death had ever yet boon found—he could not have wandered very far away from the scene of the accident which had in jured his father's brain. lie had been described to me as an ex- ; tremely winning and j handsome lad. ! Everyone, white men and Indians alike, had been kind to him; there was an ap- ; peal in his silent helplessness which no . one could resist. The hopeful possibility was that he j had attached himself to some company | of trappers or miners; and as my business led me to visit many camps, I had an ex- i ccllcnt opportunity of searching for the j missing lacl. I was the more determined in ray endeavor by the thought that his , restoration to his father might also serve to clear that father's clouded intelli gence. For "Pop's" trouble was not in- ( , sanity; I agreed with the landlady in that. It was a total suspension of memory and interest save on one point. ! It was like a clog in machinery that is only a temporary hindrance, and of no j permanent injury once it is removed. I was not at all surprised when I found j him. I knew him at once from the de scription I had had, and from the intui- j tion that I was destined so to do. He was washing dishes in a mining camp where I had stopped to pass the night, and, as good fortune had it, I was on my return trip toward Booinville. ; After watching him closely for a little while I asked the miner sitting next me in the circle around the tire: "Where did that boy come from?" "llm-m; thar ye've got me, stranger, j He come—nobody knows from whar. He just crawled inter camp one day, 'long last spring, o'ena'inost dead with hunger, an' wore ter a shadder trampiu'. When the boys nst him ler give er'count of hisself—he jest looked at 'em an' laid right down on ther groun' an' went ter sleep. We see 't he was clean beat out, an' wall, we jest fed him an' took keer 011 him, so bein' 's lie didn't 'pear ter know enough ter take keer on hisself. An' that's—all I er anybody knows." " Does he never speak?" " book hero I Ilow'd ye ever come ter nst that, I'd like ter know? Ever seen him afore? Er licern tell on him?" i told him the story of poor "Pop's" misfortunes, the disappearance of his son, and my own ideas concerning it. Not only he, but all his fellow-miners listened with the utmost attention. Finally, one who appeared to be a leader among them, cried out, excitedly: "Sec ; here, traveler I that thar boy hain't spoke • nary word scncc ever he come inter camp, • but thar ain't no better ner handier < rit i ter'hove groun''an what lie is; an'l'll 1 , tell ye what we'll du. You kin sic' on ter him with 'Mose-s,' er any thing ye've a [ min' ter, an' ef yo kin git anything outen him we'll b'lieve the yarn ye've been tol lin', an' 'll fix him up to go 'long back • with ye tor that thar looney daddy o' his'n. Ef ye carn't—we'll 'low this ain't ther chap ye're n-lookin 1 for, an' keep him 'mongst us er spell longer. What d'ye say, boys?" They all agreed to the experiment. The spokesman, toning his voice as if the handsome dishwasher were deaf, I bawled out: " Look-a-here, Numby!" The lad desisted from his unfitting task and lifted his great blue eyes to- , , ward the speaker's face. That his bruin was not wholly without intelligence was | evident from the fact that he had learned | the title his protectors had given him, | and that he paid no attention when he ' was not addressed, i The minor raised his grimy hand and beckoned. Laying his towel softly down 1 I —a peculiar quietude accompanied all his movements—"Numby" obeyed. He came ; slowly up to the circle and stood just | outside its limits, looking mutely from face to face as a dog might have done, j yet without a dog's inquiring interest. ' j "Tackle him, stranger," said someone 1 ; with eager curiosity. ; Fixing my eyes upon the vacant face, | and putting all my will into my low | pitched voice, I spoke to him: "Mose-s! ; Mose a!" The blue eyes ceased wandering and I fastened themselves upon my lips. A ! 1 profound hush I ell over the circle. There I is no man either so stolid or so sensitive ' as the frontiersman. If there is any 1 psychological principle involved in the I fact that the wish of every miner present • i was for "Numby" to find his way back to j his own identity, I do not know it; but this 1 do know—each would have sacri ficed a fragment of his own intelligence to augment that, of the poor lad before us. This may have helped —no human ; sympathy is wasted—and certain it is that i there had come over that fair, boyish face r a new expression. I rose and went to his side. Taking i his hand in my own, I repeated as dis -1 tinctly and impressively as I could: r "Mo-ses—Mo-sesl" I A slow, faint flush, lovelier than any < maiden's blush could be, stole up into the blonde check of the poor waif. ! i "Moses, your father—wants—you!" The color deepened, but some of us i could not sec it for the mist that veiled ! our eyes. ( We had been two days on our home- ! J ward journey, and I had become in tensely absorbed in the mental oxpcri ? incut which I was making. The same gentle docility which had characterized 1 the lad's father during his intercourse I with me at Boomville was manifest in Imy fellow-traveler. I was trying to dis | cover the path to the hidden intelligence j of Moses, and to lead him with me. I We stopped for a noon rest by the bank j of a little stream, and the boy lay at my feet as a child might have done, and it was then aud there that I found the cov- , : eted clew. I needed to sleep, but was wakeful. To ; facilitate the matter I began idly to re-, peat a Latin conjugation—the old famil- I ! tar jingle: Amo, a man, amat; amamus, I amatis, amm it." i There was a strange sound from the j lad as of suddenly catching his breath, ' then his hand clutched mine, and the . long-silent voice took up the refrain: j ''Amaba,, am abas, arnabat; amdbamus, i I amabatis, amabanl." Had a thunderbolt fallen at mv feet I could not have hecn more startled. Had the thunderbolt brought me a fortune I j could not have been so glad. ' When we came within sight of Boom ville another period of days had elapsed, | I and the random beginning bad led to j blessed results. I could scarcely restrain 1 my impatience to find poor "Pop," and ; was sanguine even of his future. All ! things seemed now possible. I had not only "seen Mose-s," but I had brought ! him back sound in body and hourly ' gaining iu mind. Fortunately, the pus- j sage of a swift-riding cow boy, who halted | and fed with us, enabled me to send a I message to the landlady of the "Eureka" j concerning my happy "find" and its re- j suits. I wished the "city" to be prepared, that no untoward shock might undo the j work which had already been accom- ; plished for "Mose-s." But I was destined to a surprise. That I kindly soul "from 'round Contoocook" | welcomed her compatriot with more than granite force; she literally fell upon my neck and wept. I Corson, the veterinary, in fact the only , ! physic dealer of any sort in the place., took immediate possession of the returned Moses, and, after profuse promises that \ the newly awakened brain should not be overtaxed, carried the lad away in tri -1 umph. The landlady then ushered me j j into her little parlor, and into the pres- • ence of a gracious, sweet-faced woman with soft gray hair and a general air of ! culture and refinement that could only have been acquired at either "Cawncord" or "Buwston." "This is him!" my friend explained, I byway of introduction, and with a total j disregard of her early advantages, which was barely excusable on the ground of i superabundant Western emotion—"This is him—himself!" "Mrs. Dow has forgotten to tell you | who I am," said the sweet-faced woman, j coining toward me with extended hands and a smile upon her grief-marked fea turcs. i "There is no need, I think, dear madam," I answered, grasping the slen- j , der lingers. "You are—Moses'mother." | "Yes; and eternally beholden to Moses' j ! savior." I "But that was a mere chaucc—a happy one, I grant you. Your husband—" 1 "Lies on the bed in the room yonder. Will you believe that the days of miracles are past when I tell you, as I do, that he also is restored to a comprehension of . much that has befallen him? Not all, of 1 course; but the rest will come—must come. Do you, who have done so much, care to hear our whole, simple story?" > "I do care to hear it—greatly." "My husband had not the advantage of the education we desired to give our son, and we both erred, as many ambi tious parents have done, in urging a brain i which too late we saw was not as strong | as we had fancied it. The tension was so great that just before our dear boy was to have been graduated lie broke down ; utterly. The best physicians said that I Ins only hope lay in a complete change of j life and surroundings; so his father brought him West, and, hoping for his j restoration, sheltered the lad's pride by | withholding his name. "Everything was going well until the passage of that cyclone. You know the | rest. But you do not know how long lias ' been my search for my dear ones. I ] know that Mr. Ponniman intended to change his residence from time to time, as he saw Moses wearying of any; and I never heard when he came here." There was a feeble call from the bed room, and the sweet-faced woman went to answer it. "And, indeed, it was the Lord guided her to this very door 1" exclaimed the landlady, wiping away her ready tears, and continuing the tale: "The stage drove up and out she stepped. There sat 'Pop,' and when he clapped eyes on her he sprung up wild like and pushed his hair off his forward, as if that would help him to remember. Then he gavo an awful cry and fell down in a faint. When he had come to again she #as with him, and he's been getting clearer and , clearer ever sence. It's stranger than a ! story out of a book; but Corson, he allows that it was the shock of seeing her so sudden that brought Mr. Penniman to his senses. Hut I'm kiud of dreading to have her and Moses meet. The poor woman lias gone through trouble enough, Lord knows, and if lie shouldn't happen There was a noise outside the door, and we looked toward it to see Jim Cor son enter from the street leading his temporary charge, who had been in trusted to his care in accordance with : the landlady's urgent advice that his I longing mother should be duly "pre- I pared." There was a stir, also, from the bed room way, and a rustle of woman's gar ments. The landlady hid her face upon my shoulder, and I turned away my eyes. For a moment an intensity of silence— then a low cry: "Moses, my son!" Almost at once the answer: "Mother —why, mother!" It was the gladdest sound I ever heard. —[Frank Leslie's. What is Known About Diphtheria. At the Berlin Medical Congress, one of the most interesting speeches was de livered by Professor TrelHcr, of Greifs wald, who spoke on the propagation and prevention of diphtheria. He proved that in Prussia the most numerous cases occur in the coldest provinces. He ar rived at the following conclusions: The cause of the disease is the diphtheria bacillus. The disease is propagated by the excreta of patients. The bacillus, j floating in the air, gets into the clothes i and bodies of healthy people. Diph | theritic children must be kept away I from school for at least four weeks.— ! (Pall Mall Gazette. THE JOKER'S BUDGET. JESTS AND YARNS BY FUNNY MEN OF THE PRESS. Dubious Forebodings—She Saw too Much—The Trouble—A Brutal Retort, Etc., Etc. ONE SIDE OP SCHOOL LIFE. "What do you like best about school, Goorge?" "Not gettin' caught wliisperin'." LOST TRACK OF TIIE PRICE. New Boarder—What is the price of ; good, fresh butter? Landlady—Really, I couldn't tell. It's been so long since I made uuy inquiries about it. A CONDENSED QUART. "What's this?" "That's your condensed milk." "But I ordered a quart - that's no quart." "Yes, it is. It's a condensed quart." —[Bazar. TIIE NEXT TIIING. Mrs. Larkin (reading)— Mrs. McGill of Salt Lake City found a $5 gold piece in a crop of a chicken she was dressing for dinner. Larkin—Now look out for an English syndicate to buy up all the chickens in the country.—[New York Sun. A BRUTAL RETORT. "A Portuguese proverb asserts that a contented ass enjoys leng life." "You ought to be able to get good in surance rates on that principle."— [Epoch. SHREWD FLATTERY. Agent—That child is very much like you, Madam. "It is not my child, Sir." "One would know that, Madam, for it is a very homely Httlc thing." A BUGOEBTION. "I don't know whether to make the incision from the loft hankijmnki over to the boorioboolaga, three inches, or to achieve the same results by cutting from the parallax straight through to the rut abaga," said the surgeon to his assistant. "Take the short cut and you'll got there quicker, doctor," suggested the patient.—[New York Sun. AN INTELLIGENT ANIMAL. Cautious Damo—Arc you sure this horse is suitable for a lady to drive? Livery Man—Yes'm. He's a very in telligent boss, mum, and won't let you run him into anything. LOVE'S TIE DOESN'T BIND THE DOG. Oh, love's a chain of wondrous might, Wc find it as on we jog; ' 'Twill tie up hearts exceeding tight— But will not tie the dog. —[Washington Post. A SHOCK TO IIIS FAITH. "Now, Tommy," said that young man's mother, after a heated encounter in which he had come out second best, "say your prayers right away and get into bed." "I already said 'em, maw," answered Tommy, "as soon as I found out you meant to gimme a lick in', but it didu't work." —[Torre Haute Express. THE STOS'E WENT OUT. Mistress (during a heated term) —Get dinner to-day on the gusoline stove, Bridget. Bridget—Plaze, mum, I did thry, but th' stove'wint out. Mistress—Try again, then. Bridget —Yis, mum, but it's not come back yit. It wint out t'roughth' roof. — [New York Weekly. STRUCK BY A TRAMP. "What do you mean?" said a gentle man, jumping aside as a tramp drew back his hand as if to strike him. "Nothing at all, sir," replied the tramp meekly. "I wouldn't strike; you for SSO, sir. No, sir," lie continued hurriedly; "no, sir, I wouldn't. But if you will permit me I'd like to strike you for a quarter." NOTIIIN'. "My dorg kin lick your dorg, Tommy Bodkins." "He can't do no secli thing, Patsey Mclutyrc; I 'ain't got 110 dorg." "Well, my pa kin lick yourn." "Can't neither ; 'aint got no pa." "Well, my 111a kin lick yourn." "Bet she can't; ain't got no 111a." "What hev ycr got, anyhow?" "Nothiu'." "Well, jes yer come over here, an' I'll take that out 0' yer."—[Harper's Ba zar. CHARGES SUSTAINED. ! Immigrant Inspector—Wc have infor- I mation that you came over here on con- I tract. Lord Fitzmud-Fitzmud (indignantly), ; —Aw-what-er-er—why, you wude, im t pudent fellah, I comeovah here to marry Miss Angelina Goldust, of New Yawk. Immigrant Inspector (triumphantly)— Well, what's the matter with yer; ain't marriage a contract ? You'll have to go back.—[Life. A TECHNICALITY. Susie—Papa, isn't it murder to kill a hog? Papa (who is a lawyer)— Not exactly. Murder is assaulting with intent to kill, the other is killing with intent to salt.- [Harper's Bazar. EASILY SPOTTED. Whene'er you meet a man whose face Is very sadly patched, As though he'd fallen through a hedge And had it fiercely scratched, Oh, do not dare to ask of him The source of all his woe. He's one of those who thinks that he Can shave himself, you know. —| Chicago Evening Post. DUBIOUS FOREBODINGS, Miss Columbia—Are you sure you really love me and arc not marrying me on account of my wealth? Lord Anglo—And are you sure you love me and are not marrying me on ac count of my title?— [Ban Francisco Wasp. THE TROUBLE. "They *■ ay the sun never sets on the British Empire." "Too many bayonets, I suppose." TAKING TIME BY THE FORELOCK. "Maria," he pleaded, "if your father will not give his consent, will you elope with me?" "But, Tom, just think of the wedding presents we will miss. I will promise to be yours when papa says yes." "Oli, pshaw I Why wait all that time? If we elope wo can celebrate dur golden wedding by the time your father comes around. SHE SAW TOO MUCH. Rhc (after marriage)— You told me that I was your first love, but I have found a whole trunk ful of letters from all sorts of girls, just bursting with ten derness. He—l—l said you were the first I ever loved. I didn't say you were the only one who ever loved me. See?—[New Y jrk Weekly. UNDECEIVED AT LAST. Barber—Your head is full of dandruff, sir. Customer—l'm glad you told me. I was under the impression that it was brains.—[Life. A FAMILIAR CUBTOMER. New Boy (at news stand) —That man has been standing there an hour reading ail the latest weeklies and magazines. News Man—Have patience, lle'll buy a penny papor when he gets through.— [Good News. THE MERCENARY GIRL. Miss Gotham —What kind of scent do you prefer? Miss Bullion—Cent per cent.—[New York Herald. DIDN'T WANT ANY CONSCIENCE IN 1119. "Can you recommend me to an artist who can make a picture of my hotel ?" " Yes. Try Smithkins. He's a straightforward, conscientious fellow." "Then he won't do. The hotel is on a s : do street. I want a picture of it fac ing the square, with four-horse omnibuses and barouches passing up aud down."— [New York Sun. IMPRACTICABLE ADVICE. Husband—Dr. Knowall says people should change their clothing with the weather. Wife—Huh! And I haven't but ten dresses to my name, and only one waiting maid. PARTICULARS NEEDED. Easterner (in far Western store) —Got any neckties? Proprietor (mystified)— Urn —er—what sort—silk, calico or hemp? —[Good News. A rosEn. ' *Thcy have one law for the poor and one for the rich." "Oh, come! That's all cant." "All cant, is it? Hhow mo the time when Cornelius Vauderbilt or Mr. Astor has been sent up for vagrancy." TIIE TRUE PHILOSOPHY. "Lives of rich men all remind us Wc can make our own sublime," And by liberal advertising To the highest summit climb. —| Drug, Oil and Paint Reporter. SLEEP IN THE WOOD. They say that pines conduce to somno lence, And leave the weary man both span and spick. To put a tramp to sleep, who gives of fence, There's nothing like a solid chestnut stick. —[Epoch. THE TABLES TURNED. Distinguished Guest (at the summer ; resort hotel) —Garcon, you may hand me the menu. By the way, your face is strangely familiar. Garcon—Possibly, sir. (Proudly.) I was a guest of this hotel last year. Distinguished Guest— Indeed. (To himself) I was a waiter.—[Life. VOICES OF THE NIGHT. When night has let her curtains down, with low and plaintive hum Mosquitoes thirsting for our blood around our pillows come. We watch, we wait with bated breath while strikes the midnight chime, And hit our cheeks a stinging slap and miss 'em every time. —I Boston Courier. IIE LOVED PRECISION IN SPEECH. A citizen who was stopped by a tramp on Michigan avenue the other day re plied to his request by saying: "No, sir—no, sir—not a penny! You arc a fraud?" "In what respect?" "Why, haven't you asked me for money?" "Certainly, but how docs that mako me a fraud?" "Well, then, an impostor." "But I'm no impostor ; I simply asked you for a dime. I didn't claim to be either the Governor of New York or a fire-sufferer; I made no statement from which you can argue that I am cither a fraud or an impostor." "Well, I have nothing for you." "Ah! But that's different. Now you make a plain statement of facts, and I have nothing further to say. I can stand it to be poor, but ambiguity of language is something that 1 never have and never will accept. Good morning, sir!"—[De troit Free Press. IN ANOTHER LIGHT. Fond Young Mother —What a pity that babies can't talk! Husband—l think it's a great bless ij?! "Why, llarry, how can you talk so?" "Well, if babies could talk I think they'd do a lot of swearing when half a dozen women got at them and teased them for hours at a time."—[Lawrence American. Queer Place for a Tree. "One of the most unique things I have ever seen on my travels," said Arthur Thomas, of New York, "is the old Court-llousc in Greencastlc, Ind. 1 was in the town the other day, and my atten tion was called to a full-grown tree. Now, the curious thing about this tree was that it didn't grow on terra firma but on the tower of the Court-llousc. The tree sprouted years ago from a crevice in the bricks of the tower, and it devel oped year after year until now it is a foot or more in circumference at the trunk. It is one of the most curious tree growths I have seen anywhere. It will have to go soon, however, for the county is going to construct a new Court House. It seems a pity that it cannot bo pre served, for it is a fine specimen of erratic tree growth."—[Cincinnati Commercial Gazette. Keeping Trousers in Shape. I have solved the problem of keeping pantaloons in shape. The so-called trousers stretchers are in many respects a delusion and a snare. Tho machine has a tendency towards lengthening the legs. My plan is to have a separate pair of sus penuers for each pair of pants and hang the garment by the supporters on two pegs about as far apart as a man's shoulders. Try this and you will notice that the pants will never bag at tho knees. Besides there is a great deal of time and worry saved in not being obliged to change suspenders every time you <mange trousers.—[St. Louis Globe- Democrat. A TERRIBLE PRISON. THE LOATHSOME TORTURE HOUSE OF MACEDONIA. Pitiable Aspect of the Unfortunate Convictß—Chained to a Pillar and Tortured i )y n utfC Red Ants-A Charncl House. Very reluctantly, and with many mis givings, the Mushir of Uskub in Mace donia, Ahmed Ayoub Pasha, gave a cor respondent of the London Daily News a letter of introduction to the chief of the gendarmery, who alone could give per mission to inspect the large prisons. The Mushir inquired over and over again of the dragoman whether the correspondent had evinced friendly feelings toward the Turks, or whether ho was an enemy. "The dragoman's ingenious replies," says the correspondent, "at last inspired him with suflicieut confidence to allow him to grant my request. I went through the badly-paved and filthy streets of the town, and reached the"residence of the commander of the gendarmery of the Province of Uskub. lie was quite as surprised as the Mushir when he heard that I wished to visit the prisons, declar ing that since he had been in office no European had ever seen them, and that in the rare cases when a Consul repre senting a foreign power had wished to sec them he had always given twenty four hours' notice. "Before entering I had to swear that I was not a Consul, and .that I was what the dragoman had described me to be— a European hunting for antiquities. The fact that 1 was not a Consul, however, impressed the Turk more than anything, and he politely invited mo to take colTeo and to smoke a nargliileh. While I was enjoying his hospitality he sent a numb;.l of men to the prisons to nnnouuee my visit and to give some special orders— the execution of which took some time, and I was kept drinking coffee and smok ing for nearly an hour and a half. At last my host rose and invited me to fol low. "We soon enterod the largest prison of the province, which is called 'Kursch j umla,' or the House of Lead. It rises I out of the River Warda, not far from the ; fortress, and occupies a vast area. Soldiers, presenting arms, formed two lines, which reached to the interior courtyard, where a number of prison officials were awaiting us. The courtyard is square, and surrounded on all sides by the building, which has three stories. A loggia, or covered balcony, runs all { round on each story. The commander j first showed me a great number of red j inscriptions on the walls, which arc sup ! posed to have been made by Genoese or Venetian merchants in the seventeenth ; century, who, perhaps, erected the build ] ing as a warehouse for the Oriental goods | which they sent to Europe. Of course, I affected great interest in these inscrip | tions to keep up my character as an an tiquarian, and I noticed that the com i mundor no longer distrusted me. After | this we ascended the staircase to iuspect i the first story. There was scarcely room to pass on the steps, so covered were | they with accumulations of dirt, which I filled the air with a pestilential odor. "In the so-called office I was shown the bocks, according to wlrcli the Kur- j schimla contain- 1-19 prison cells and 1,811 prisoners. Those on the first and j second floors arc sentenced for slight of- j fenses, and the time of detention varies from one to ten years. Ido not believe ■ that any prisoner has ever outlived the fifth year of imprisonment in those loath- j some dark cells. In this respect the j prison officials confirmed my suspicions 1 by saying that the mortality was very j great, and that very few prisoners lived j to the end of their time. In a cell certain-1 ly not larger than two and a half yards square, and of about the same height, I between fifteen and twenty prisoners are ' confined. All they can uo by being I friendly and making room for each other i is to stand up and lie down again, and they are allowed half an hour's walk in the courtyard once in the day. "But how shall 1 describe the pitiable aspect of these poor creatures? With hollow cheeks, the pallor of death upon their faces, and terrible protruding eves, they writhe in continual agony on the I floor, not only panting for air, but suf- I fering from want of food. They receive j absolutely nothing but bread and water, even if their sentence be for life. If their friends send them money, they are al lowed to buy meat twice a week, Jjut the prison ofiicials brutally cheat '.hem out of three-fourths of what is sent to them. Thus exposed to hunger and thirst, to | the pestilence in the atmosphere; con fined in these black holes without the possibility of moving about, and kicked ; and outraged by the brutal prison guards, ; no wonder that they succumb to their ' misery I The greater number of the prisoners are naked from head to foot, | with heavy iron rings and chains on their wrists and ankles. As I passed some of the cells, after looking through j the loopholes in the doors, the prisoners j within pushed through a stick to which a little leather bag was attached. I j placed a franc piece in each, but I had j my doubts as to whether the prisoners would benefit by my almsgiving, and | thought it more likely that the greedy guard would take the money from them. ! "The cells on the first and second ! floors are all alike. The degree of sick ! ness and misery of the inmates alone va- I ries. The cells in the underground prisons, where the worst olTendcrs expi ate their crimes, are, however, far more horrible even than those I have described. Ilere every ray of light is excluded. In utter darkness the unhappy wretches lie chained to the reeking floor of the cell. They are totally unable to change their positions, and are released from their chains for two hours each day, lest death should afford them an escape from this Inferno. The official who conducted me told me with a cynical smile how this class of offenders is brought to confess. Hands and feet are bound together and the man is placed at a pillar to which his head is fastened. The victim is thus ab solutely unable to move. The prepara tions completed, the torture begins. There is always a stock of large ants kept ready in little boxes, and of these about fifty are placed upon the body of the poor wretch. The tortures he endures from the bites of these insects seldom | fail to make him confess, no matter whether guilty or innocent. Upon others the same effect is produced by chaining them to the pavement of the courtyard and exposing them for a whole day to the scorching rays of the sun without the power of moving a limb. Never in my life had I so fully appreci ated the privilege of breathing fresh air as when I turned my back upon the pris ons of Uskub, which, moreover, arc but a specimcn of what may be seen in every city of Macedonia." Shooting a Deer in the Adirondacks. They tell a good story of a Boston merchant at the Adirondacks last year. He was particularly anxious to kill a deer. He employed "one of the best , guides in the region," and they jacked ' and jacked nearly all night, amid great suffering of the would-be shooter. Not a deer did they see nor hear. The shooter was nearly dead from sitting in one posi tion. Toward morning they passed a swampy place, and there was a rustling in the reeds. The guide asked in a short whisper if the shooter heard it. lie did hear it, and his teeth were already chat tering with buck fever, or with cold, ho could not tell which. lie signified his willingness to shoot by the trembling of the gun in his unsteady hands. The guide again whispered that the rustling was a deer, and for the merchant to watcn for eyes, but if he could not see any eyes to shoot as near as ho could at the sound. At the same time the guide suggested caution that the shooter should be care-* ' ful and not shoot him. The hunter fired. The echoes awoke and the splash ing and rustling ceased. The guide told the merchant that he had shot a deer, and, "by the sonnd" he judged that it was a large buck. lie had doubtless secured a beautiful pair of ant lers. But the swamp was so thick and of such a nature that it would not bo possible to get the deer, but when winter came the place would freeze over and then the horns and hide could be secured, lie would take the earliest opportunity to get them and forward them to Boston. The merchant came home in the full faith of his success. When cold weather came } ho daily expected the horns. The ex press was watched, but they have not § come to hand. Later in the winter ho learned that some guides arrange with another guide to go into the swamp, get. , behind a tree, so as to be safe from the * * shot, and then to rustle aud splash till the tenderfoot shoots. After which all is still, and the tenderfoot is satisfied, lie has shot a deer. Now that merchant does not care to have his friends mention ■the pair of horns he expected.—[Forest .■ and Stream. A SHAVED COUNTRY. i Curious Appearance Old Mexico Takes on Daring the Dry Season. ! The City of Mexico is 7,500 feet above sea level. During the day the temperature fiuctuates between 70 and 00 degrees, but at night it never gets abo\e ! the sixties, so the year around you can not sleep without a cover. The rainy i season lasts about three months during | the summer. Then the country is ver -1 dant, the pampas grass flourishes on the great ranges aud rich foliage covers mountain and valley along the rivers with mantles of green. The dry season lasts about nine months, and before it ends things arc pretty well burned up. But bounteous crops are ! harvested during the summer months i aud garnered for the dry season. After I the rainy season the grass on the ranges 1 is cured on the ground by the sun, the .same as hay is cured by being mowed, | and thus it furnishes food for the cattle. Before the dry season is ended, however, i the grass is nibbled close to the sod, and then the whole face of the country looks as though it had been shaved. In some 1 places the forests are heavy, but in others not a tree can be seen. Mahogany, rosewood and pine flourish in abundance along the Monterey & Gulf Hnilroad, and for miles the trees are of mahogany. The gold and silver miucs are but indifferently developed. Surface mining is about the only kind done. Prospectors expect to find coined dollars on the ground, and when they are dis appointed they leave in disgust. Last year enough wheat was raised in Sonora to supply five other States. The people did not know what to do with it. With their old-fashioned habits they did not know how to take advantage of their prosperity, and so lost much, but a great deal of it was shipped to New York and Europe. Every year the Mexican merchants visit Germany, France and England, and purchnse a season's stock of merchandise, which is shipped to them in clipper ships byway of Cape Horn. This they do because the tariff of the United States prevents Mexico from mak ing cheap purchases in the States. Why Cats are Thin. Have you ever inquired how it is that cats can combine with their proverbial idleuess sucli great agility? says " La grange's Physiology." Muscular inac tion leads just as much in other kinds of animals as in the human species to obes ity; the dog which does not hunt, the horse kept in the stable becomes fat and sluggish. Wild animals even, if kept ; in a cage, where they are forced into the I repose of domestic life, very rapidly lose j their slenderness of figure and their ease of movement. [ Why does the cat escape the ordinary j law, and why, in spite of the fact that it rarely moves, does it seldom become fat : as does a dog or horse under similar cir cumstances? It is because its immobility is not that of inaction, and its nerves are working while its muscles seem at rest. Like the fencer waiting the moment to attack, the cat is constantly ready to spring. It is | always watching something; a rat, a fly, or a joint of meat. A drawing-room cat only make three or four springs in the course of a day, but each of them has been preceded by two or three hours of latent work. When we believe that the animal is engaged in a happy dream it is meditat ing a capture, calculating the distance of its spring and holding its muscles iu readiness for anything that may happen. Hence it is never taken by surprise. If a little bird escapes from its cage it is caught and eaten in three seconds. The cat has been watching it for a week. When it seemed asleep it was lying to wait. Can Babies Remember P " My mother went to visit my grand father," writes a reader of Backet, "tak ing with her a little brother of mine who was eleven months old, and his nurse who waited on her as a maid. One day this nurse brought the baby into my mother's room and put him on the floor, which was carpeted all over. There he crept about and amused himself as he felt inclined. When my mother was dressed, a certain ring that she generally wore was not to be found. Great search was made, but it was never produced, and, the visit over, they all went away, and it was almost forgotten. "Exactly a year after, they again went to visit the grandfather. This baby was now a year and eleven months old. The same nurse took him into the same room and my mother saw him, after looking about him, deliberately walk up to a cer tain corner, turn a bit of carpet back and produce the ring. lie never gave any account of the matter, nor did he, so far as I know, remember it afterward. It seems most likely that he found the ring on the floor and hid it, as in a safe place, under the corner of the Brussels carpet where it was not nailed. He probably forgot all about it till he saw the placS again, and he was far too infantile at the time it was missed to understand the talk that weut on was about, or to know what the search, which, perhaps, he did not notice, was for."
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers