Japan lias set herself to cancel her
entire present indebtedness by the
year 1930, and she bids fair to do bo.
It is calculated that by tho end of
the year 2000 there will be 1, /00,000t
-000 English-speaking persoas on the
globe.
Texas has forty-five educational col
leges and academies, of which tho
Methodists have fourteen, the Baptists
ten, the Cumberland Presbyterians
six, while the Presbyterians have four.
There are six institutions for colored
people's education, of different do
nominations.
France is about to issue bonds to
pay Madagascar's debt. As Algeria
aud Cochin China are liabilities in
stead of assets, the prospects of having
to meet a big outlay for the new island
possession cannot please the French
economists. Tho glory o! conquest is
all very well, but the cash results are
rarely reassuring.
The German Government has again
given notice, and German-Americans
are especially advised, that Germans
who have emigrated and have been
fined or punished otherwise for con
travention of the military service laws
Bhall not be allowed to reside in Ger
many, except under very peculiar cir
cumstances, a record of which must be
kept in the war office.
The startling warning that recently
came from the Smithsonian Institution
to the effect that civilized man is
sweeping the wild birds off the face ol
the earth at such a rate that before
long hardly any species of bird life
will survive except such as are domes
ticated, should be heeded and acted
upon by every State that does not
already protect its feathered popula
tion, says the Boston Transcript.
Those who have been associated
with the new President for years are
interested, as well as puzzled, in tha
change bis signature has undergone.
When he was Governor of Ohio he
signed himself "Win. MoKinley, Jr."
His father was then living. The father
died after the son had been Governor
of tho State for a little over a year.
He was then anxions to drop "Jr."
from Ins name, but as ho had taken
the oath of office as "Wm. MoKinley,
Jr.," he decided to continue putting
that as the official signature to all doc
uments. When Governor of Ohio the
second term he dropped the word
"Jr.," signing the name "Wm. Mc-
Kinley." During tho latter part of his
term as Governor, McKinley signed
the word "Wm." so often that the let
ter "in" became almost a straight
line. This caused confusion, many
people mistaking the name for a let
ter "W" with a straight stroke run
ning out from the top of the letter.
Before taking tho oath of office as
President Major MoKinley decided
that thereafter he would sign his
name "William McKinley," and that
is the way he has affixed his signature
to all documents turned out from the
White House since the 4th of March.
"William MoKinley" will ho found on
nil documents with which he has to
deal during his term as President.
The place in the Union which a
population of 3,100,000 gives Greater
New York is one of such pre-eminence
that it has not been fully realized.
The population of the greater city is
only equalled or surpassed by that of
six States of tho Union. Texas has a
territory as largo as the whole of
France, yet in tho limited area of
Greater New York we have a popula
tion as large as that of tho biggest
commonwealth of the Southwest. We
exceed Massachusetts by half a million
and Tennessee by over a million, while
we have nine times as many people as
Vermont. The States which equal or
exceed us in population are New York,
Pennsylvania, Texas, Illinois, Missouri
and Ohio. We exceed the rest by
ratios illustrated in these examples:
Greater Nnw York City . 3,100,001
Connecticut 825,000
South Caiolinn.. 1,400,000
Virginia 1,750.000
Maine 741,000
Kansas 1,334,0 0
Montana 205,000
Michigan 2,337,000
If the population of Maine, New
Hampshire, Vermont, Tihoile Island,
Montana, North Dakota, Oregon, Utah
and Nevada were all united in a sing'e
Btate it would still be less than the
population of Greater New York. It
would be easy to multiply such com
parisons, but, the New York World
suggests "it is better to remember
that the greatness of a city is meas
ured more by tho intelligence, the
liberality, the enterprise, the love of
freedom and justice illustrated iu its
history, than by the number of its
people. We ilo nc: I .roposu to forget,
however, or to allow others to forget,
that Greater New York is now great
enough in every way to aflord to he
fjir-'lest.-"
WORTH WHILE,
'Tis cay enough to b9 pleasant,
When life flows aloug like a song;
Cat tho man worth while is tho one who will
smile
Wheu everything goes dead wrong;
For the tost of the heart is trouble,
Ami it always comes with the years,
Aud tho smile that is worth the praise of
earth
Is the smile that comes through tears.
It is easy enough to be prudent,
When nothing tempts you to stray;
When without or within no voice of siu
Is luring your soul away;
Cut it's only a negative virtue
Until it is tried by lire,
And the life that i 3 worth the honor of
earth
Is the ouo that resists desire.
Cy tho cynic, tho sal, tho fallen,
Who had no strength for tho strife,
Tho world's highway is cumbered to-day;
Tiicy make up tho item of life.
But tho virtue that conquers passion,
Aud tho sorrow that hides in a smile-
It is these that are wbrth tho homage of ;
earth,
For wo And thorn but on rt e in a while.
—Ella Wheeler Wilcox. j
• MY FIRST PATIENT.
EE MARO BOYEN.
HAD been a week in my
new apartment. A week
.•* —a abort time—anil yet
o°it seemed in the retro
"B\\/spect like an endless
S |/ succession of days, each
y--*. ' _ ono of which contained
the dreams anil hopes ol
an entire lifetime. For a whole week
the white poroeiain sign of a practic
ing physician had shone in splendor
at the street entrance and upstairs on
the glass door of my neat little Bat.
For a whole week my small rocep
tion room, with its dark curtains anil
its straight-backea chairs, hail waited
for patients to avail themselves of the
advice and help of "Dr. Mas Er
hardt."
It really did not surprise me at all
that my office was empty for a few
days, because, as I told myself, con
solingly, the neighborhood mast be
come familiar with the fact that it had
good medical advice right here in its
midst. After I had sent away my first
patient completely oared,things would
assuredly be different. Then—after
my growing reputation had been an
nounced to the neighborhood, or
better still, to the whole city by a
crowd of patients in office hoars, as
well as by u neat little coupe, which a
dignified coachman would drive
through tho principal streets—then,
yes, then— And sol came to the dream
which occupied me most. I fancied my
self again with my cousin Mary, who
certainly would fit the role of a doe
tor's wife most delightfully.
I was in love with my little golden
haired cousin. As a boy I had shown
her all those little knightly attentions
which are possible from tho stronger
playfellow in the lionse and on the
playground. As a junior I had dedi
cated to her my first poem, and as a
senior I hail nearly ruined my unformed
baritone voice by continually singing
about tha "iluxen-haired maiden."
When I came home, after passing my
first examination, the young medical
student became sure that the "llaxen
haired maiden" returned his love with
all her heart; yet not a word was
spoken.
My university course was finished.
Whenever I was working unusually
hard or fighting successfully the tire
some battle of a final examination, in
spite of my preoccupation, my dear
Mary's eyes were constantly in my
thoughts aud seemed to be taking the
liveliest interest in tho results of my
efforts. When my little cousin, greet
ing my home-coming,whispered softly,
"Doctor Erhardt," I looked deep into
her dear eyes and whispered, just as
softly, "Mrs. Doctor Erhardt." Then
I saw a bright blush pass over her face,
as she drew quickly back into tho win
dow niche.
In the following days I hail oppor
tunity to talk with Mary about all the
air castles which a young physician in
his empty offico has abuudaut time to
build; but I did not venture yet to
discuss my dream of the future doe
tor's wife. There lay at times in my
sweetheart's blue eyes an expression
which drove the words buck even when
they were trembling on my lip 3. Not
that I doubted in tho least that Mary's
heart belonged unconditionally to mo;
no, it seemed rather as if a lack of
confidence in my professional ability
lay in her glance, anil my pride in
duced me to keop silent, until a re
port of my first independent case
6hoald call forth Mary's fall approba
tion and unlimited confidence in my
chosen vocation.
I sat in my consulting room buried
in such thoughts as these on the after
noon of this dull November day. I
had barely heard the timid ring with
which some one begged admittance. I
rose to open the door in place of the
little page whom I hud sent on an
errand. During the few steps that I
had to take, I confess that I was over
whelmed by a flood of tho wildest
fancies. Hero was a caller who nocdod
my help. Of course, it was an aristo
cratio patient, with ringing praise,
and lame, and—ah, there I was again,
thinking of the doctor's wife.
I opened tho door. A poorly-clad
woman stood before me in the dim
light of the late fall day. A pair of
great dark eyes looked beseechingly
at mo from a face thin and streaked
with coal dirt.
"Doctor," she said, in n trembling
voice; "oh, Doctor, be merciful, I
beg you I My little Mary is so sick."
That name atoned, to some extent,
for the disappointment which the
woman's poverty-stricken appearance
had caused, for it did not harmonize
with my recent urcams.
"Who are you? Who sends you to
.cC" I asked.
•'No one sends me," replied the
woman, softly and rapidly. "Oh,
Doctor, do come I Ever since morn
ing I've been carrying coal from the
wagon to the next house. I live over
opposito in the court. My child has
been sick since yesterday, and I found
hor so much worse when I hurried
homo for a minute just now."
I hesitated somewhat, the disap
pointment was so great. The woman
wiped with her grimy hand a face that
already showed the traces of tears.
She sobbed painfully.
"I suppose I ought to call in the
charity doctor ; but your servant is a
son of the cobbler in our court, and
he has told nil the neighbors that you
were so kind-hearted. Oh, help my
little girl!"
"Well, of course, the woman must
be helped. I was human, and surely
know what was due to humanity. So
I went with her, after first taking out,
with au importance that surprised and
half-shamed me, most of the necessary
instruments of n physician.
Across the street to a great court
lying behind a long row of houses, up
five flights, each darker and steeper
than the last, through an ill-fitting
door into a little chamber with a slop
ing ceiling and one tiny window, and
there on a poor but neat bed, with
feverish limbs, and wandering, uncon
scious eveß, lay a child about fourteen
months old. The woman knelt down
by the bed.
"She doesn't know me any more,"
she moaned.
The child coughed hoarsely. That
was croup of the worst kind. I tore a
leaf from my blank-book and wrote
my first real prescription.
•*Go to the nearest apothecary's,"
I said.
She looked at me with some embar
rassment. • •Can't I take it to King
street?" she asked.
"No, indeed," I cried. "Why do
you not wish to go to the apothecary
in this street?"
The women reddened visibly in spite
of the coal dirt. "I think," she stam
mered, "at the Eagle Pharmacy, in
King street, they may know me. 1 !
carry coal there, and perhaps they will
—I have no money." A large tear fell
onto the paper in her hand.
"Ob, these people who can't pay for
doctor or medicino eitner!" I said, 1
impatiently, to myself. I took out
some money and said aloud; "There,
take that and hurry !"
The woman pressed her lips on the :
little one's hand, and then, before I
could stop her, on mine, and hastened
away.
I looked around the room for a seat.
A poor chair, a rough box, an old
table, some cheap kitchen utensils on !
the low, cold stove, which took the
place of a raDgo; in one corner, hang- .
ing on the wall, a threadbare woolen
dress, and near it a child's gown and {
a little hat trimmed with a blue rib
bon; on the narrow bhelf near the
tiny window a curled myrtle plant, a
scarlet geranium, aud a hymn book
with bright gilt edges; that was all .
that the room contained.
I brought up the chair and sat
near the little sick girl. Sho
was evidently well nourished; her "
little limbs were plump and shapely,
the golden hair soft and curly. Sho
breathed painfully, but she was not
conscious; and her blue eyes stared
straight before her, as if she were
looking into a distant, unknown conn
try. It was cold in the room. I went
to the stove, but found only a few
chips—too few to build a fire. So I
sat down and waited for the woman
and the medicine.
Again and again my glance wan
dered about the poverty-stricken
room. A poor, hard-working woman
who carried coal on the street, while
her child lay sick and suffering; and
yet she certainly loved her little one
tenderly. Suddenly a thought shot
through my mind that I should not
bo able to save the child ; that per
haps I had not been decided enough
to take on my own responsibility the
extreme and energetic measures which
would have wrested the littlo sufferer
from death. My heart grew hot as I
hurried to the door and listened for
the mother's footsteps.
There she was at last. To my re
proachful look she only answered,
humbly : "There were so many people
in the store. Folks like me must
stand back."
An hour of torture passed. The
medicino did no good; little Mary
could not swallow it. Neither did it
avail when, with trembling heart, but
a steady hand, I used the knife on tho
slender, helpless throut. The littlo
golden-haired girl died—died bofore
my eyes ou tho lap of her stricken
mother.
The woman looked up as if startled
when a tear fell on to her hand, for
she had not wept. "You are crying,
Doctor? Oh you must not do that.
You will have to stand by so many
sick beds where God sends no relief."
She looked earnestly at the little
body. "I loved her so. 1 did every,
thing for her that I could, being so
poor. When I came home from my
dirty work I always found her so
pretty, ho loving. For hours she
would lie on tho bed or sit ou the
floor and play with almost nothing,
and then she would laugh for joy
when I came home. God has taken
her; Ho loved her better than I—but
oh, how lonely it will bo for me I"
I pressed the poor woman's hand;
I could not speak, but I laid some
money on the table and went out
softly. Once ut home, 1 laid my case
of instruments away, and sat down
[ overwhelmed. I could eat no supper ;
I went to bed and hoped to sleep, but
: tho picturo of a dismal attic room, of
a dead child, and a humble, devout
' woman would not let me rest, any
more than tho torturing recollection
5 of ray own part in that scene,
s Early the next morning an oid col
lego friend camo to see mo as ho was
passing through tho city. Ho dragged
> me through the crowded streets, to the
museums, to all sorts of restauronts,aud
complained of my lack of epirits- I
pleaded a headache, and so escaped
going to see a popular play at the
theater. Tired and exhausted, I went
at last alone to my room. As I passed
a florist's brilliantly ligthed windows,
I stepped in and bought a costly white
camellia and some fragrant violets.
I climbed the five flights to the
home of the poor woman. I found
the attic room unlocked. It was dim
ly lighted ; a small coffin stood in the
middle of the bare room, and the child
lay there in a white shroud. The rib
bon from the hat on the wall had been
worked over into two little bows; a
myrtle wreath rested on the fair hair,
and the geranium blossoms were scat
tered over the body. On the table
near by wes a lamp, and the open
hymn book was beside it.
I laid the beautiful white blossom in
the stiff little hand and fastened a
bunch of violets on the breast of the
silent sleeper; then I looked at the
open book. "I joy to depart"—the
old hymn that I had learned at school
and half forgotten:
"To my dear ones who grieve,
Do not mourn for me now;
This lost message I leave,
To God's will you must bow."
I laid the book awav with a sigh.
The words of the old hymn, the sol
emn stillness, the peacoiul little child
oppressed me. I went home, after
inquiring uhout the hour of the
burial.
I retired early. I was weary, and
all my unrest had gone. Asjif called
forth by a powor higher than my own,
the words of an earnest prayer came
to my lips, of the prayer that God
would bless me in my hard profession,
and would change my haughty self
confidence into a humble trust in His
protection, wherever my small knowl
edge and my faithful eftorts would not
avail, when I must stand, as on the
day before, helpless to aid.
In the early morning I awaited tho
liitlo coffin at the door of the house.
A man bore it before him, and the
mother followed in her poor black
gown. She pressed my hand with
a grateful look, when she saw that I
had joined the little procession. Tho
way was not long, the streets wero al
most empty, and the air was unusually
mild for November. When the iron
gate of tho cemetery opened, the
weeping woman bowed her head still
lower. A young clergyman stood
beside the grave. "I have undertaken,
as far as I am able, to pronounce a
last blessing over all tho sleepers of
my congregation," he said, softly, as
he met my surprised look.
That evening I went to seo my rela
tives. I did not find the parents at
home. Only Cousin Mary was there
to receive me. We sat by the window
whero tho moonlight fell on us, and
then I told her of my first patient, and
what I had learned from it. Mary
said nothing in answer to my confes
sion ; but suddenly I felt her arms
thrown around my neck. She looked
at me with wet eyes. "Don't you see,
Max?" sho said, "now you know your
self what was lacking in your prepara
tion for work; but, thank God, it has
come to yon with your first patient.
Now I believe that you will make a
good physician who will bring help,
even where his own skill does not
work a cure." I kissed my dear one.
"And now, what do you think?" I
asked. "Have you the courage to
become the wife of such a doctor?"
Sho smiled through her happy tears.
And so at last we wero betrothed.
As it happened, the very next day,
1 was called to a child that was suf
fering intensely with croup, and was
so happy as to bo able to save it.
Since then God has Bhowu much favor
to the sick and miserable through my
efforts, and my work has grown ever
dearer to me.
But tho mother of my first patient
moved into my house to be my house
keeper until my sweetheart became
the doctor's wife. Even after the
wedding, she remained as cook, until
she decided later to make still another
change, and came to nurse our little
first-born daughter, Mary. She wept
over our baby for joy, and in thankful
remembrance of the little golden
liaired girl who had found a happy
home for her mother and had mado a
doctor worthy of his high profession.
—Translated for the Independent.
Stout Hearts, These.
The heart is not always the delicate
organ it is geuerally believed to be.
Dr. William Turner records in tho
British Medical Journal a few cases
which point to tho fact that wounds of
the heart are seldom, if ever, imme
diately fatal. A child two years old
was brought to him with a sewing
needle driven into its heart, and the
needle was extracted without evident
harm resulting to the heart of the
child. Another case described is that
of a soldier in whoso heart a bullet
was found imbedded six years after ho
had been wouuded, ho having died
from quite another cause. Several
instances are also given of persons
living for months and years after their
hearts had been terribly lacerated.
Indeed, neither gunshot injur
ies nor penetrating wounds bring
the heart at once to a standstill; so
that this part of the animal organism
is apparently not its most vital struc
ture.
An Eagle as an Alarm Clock,
Mr. W. Lo C. Beard, in St. Nicho
las, tells of a tame eagle he had as u
pet in Arizona. Mr. Beard says:
The half-breed in whoso charge he
had boon left told lis he was far hotter
than an alarm clock, for no one could
sleep through the cries with which he
greeted the rising sun and his notion
of breakfast time; and while an alarm
would ring for only half a minute,
Moses was wound up to go all day, or
i until ho got something to eat. But
his guardian treated him kindly, and
■ Moses grew and thrived, soon putting
i on a handsome suit of brown and gray
feathers, which ho was vorv proud of,
> and spent most of his spare time in
I preening.
THE FIELD OF ADVENTURE.
THRILLING INCIDEI7T3 AND DAR
ING DEEDS ON LAND AND SEA.
A White Expedition in Africa Rout
ed by Savages —An OrutiK-Uu
tang Attacks His Keeper, Kte.
AMONG the passengers on the
steamer IJonnv, which has
arrived at Liverpool from the
5 west coast of Africa, was
Captain Boisragon, who was one of the
only two white men who escaped from
the Benin massacre, Mr. Locke being
the other. Captain Boisragon was in
very good health, and said that his
arm was almost well again.
Captain Boisragon gnvo in the Lon
don Times the following account of
his adventures after the first, attack
was made on the expedition:
"When the firing began I was walk
ing just behind Major Crawford, who
was next to Mr. Phillips. At first we
conld not believe that the firing was
meant for anything but a salute, as
everything had seemed so peaceful.
When we did realize what it meant I
rushed back to try and get my re
volver, which was locked up in a box,
but as all the carriers had bolted at
once I could not get it, and was re
turning to the head of the column
when I met Crawford and the others
coming back. Crawford told me
Phillips had been killed already, so we
settled to try and get back to Gwato.
As we went along the road with a lot
of our carriers and servants who
had joined us, we were continu
ally fired on by the Benin men. At
first all the white men kept on turning
to the Benin men, saying 'Adoc' (the
Beniu salutation) anil' Don't fire. It's
a peaceful palaver.' landing that
this was no good, wo took to charging
them with our sticks, and they inva
riably ran awav. After a bit- Major
Crawford was badly wounded in the
groin. Ho Mr. Locke, Maliug, myself
and Crawford's orderly carried him,
although he told us he was done for
and implored us to leave him uud
save ourselves. Meanwhile all our
carriers had gone on with Mr. Powis,
who, when I last saw h'm, seemed to
be driving the Benin men before him
like sheep. He had been up to Benin
several times before, could speak the
language a little, and at first the Benin
men did not seem to want to touch
him at all. While we were carrying
Major Crawford, Dr. Elliot, who was
bleeding irom a wound in the head,
kept on charging into the bush, try
ing to prevent the Benin men from
shooting at us, for we could only go
very slowly. He moat undoubtedly
kept them from coming close up to us,
and saved us from being hit several
times. After a bit I saw a man aim
ing at us from behind a tree further
up the road in the direction we were
going, so I told the others to put
Crawford down for a short time while
I charged at the man. In doing so I
was knocked over by a shot in my
arm, but as it did not hurt at the time
I got up again and charged the Benin
man away.
••When I got back to tbe others I
found a lot of Benin men had crept
up close behind and killed them all
except Locke, who was wounded in
three places. Wo were all hit with
pellets several times. As Locke and
myself wero the only two living, we
bolted into the bush. Wo had taken
the compass belonging to poor Mul
ing, and tried to steer northwest,
which would bring us out on the
Gwato Creek eoino way above Gwato.
We ran and walked through thick bush
as far as we could that evening, and
stopped to rest about 5.30 p. m., hav
ing left the scene of the massacre
about 3.45 p.m. Immediately after
we sat down we heard two men—Benin
men, of course—talking to each other
not twenty yards away from us, and a
few minutes afterwards we heard a
party cutting their way through the
bush. At first it seemed as if they
were making straight for us, but they
passed about twenty yards from us,
dropping sentries as they went. Dar
ing the night I had to chaugo my po
sition, as I was getting cramp, and
the seutry in front of us must
have heard me, for ho called
out to the one next him, and
we conld hear them both searching
through the busli. Soou altor that I
woke up to find a band on my boot,
then feeling up my gaiter, aud I
thought it was one of the Benin men
who had found us in tho dark. I
grabbed the hand,meaning to strangle
tho man before he could cry out. At
tho same time I called out, 'Locke, I
have caught this villainl' when I
found it was Locke himself, who had
changed his position and was trying
to find out where I was. After this
the Benins must have known where we
were, as we could hear three of them
walking round and round us until
long after daylight. Then they seemed
to leavo us, but why or whorefore they
did I cannot tell. We thought that
they imagined we were already done
for. However, instead of being shot
when we moved off, as we half ex
pected to he, we saw no one and got
away. Although we heard plenty of
I people we met no one until tho last
day, as we kept to the bush as much
as possible.
•'On the fifth day we came across a
small creek which wo knew must lead
to the Gwato Creek. We walked down
into a small waterside village. There
the few men, instead of giving us the
water we asked for, hurried us off into
u small canoe until wo were round a
corner. Then they let us drink all we
wanted. These men were Jakries, who
trade with the Benin men, and they
took us across to a bigger Jakrio vil
lage on tho other side of the creek.
There wo got a larger canoe, got un
derneath mats, and were paddled down
to the Benin River, which we reached
about sunset, and where we found one
cf our own Protectorate launches. We
were told afterwards that the reason
the men in tho email village hurried
us ftwuy uo quickly was because
there were some Benin soldiers
living in tho village looking out
for refugees, bat that they had left
the village about a quarter of an
hour before we got there to get their
food, and had not returned. Wo had
absolute'y nothing to eat for the five
dav'B we were in the bush, and nothing
to drink but the dow on the leaves in
the early morning. The only thing
wo could find eatable woro plaintains,
but they were so dry that we could not
swallow any of them. Another day
without water would, I think, have
finished us both. Dr. D'Archy Irvine,
who looked after ua so well when wo
got down to New Benin, told me that
ray nrm would have iuortifiod if it hud
not been attended to for another day.
The wound had got very bad the day
before we reached water."
Attacked by an Orang-Outang.
"Chief," the big orang-outang whose
pensive air and almost human tricks
have for years caused visitors to tho
zoo to wonder just how much there
really is in Darwin's theory, attacked
his keeper, and if tho latter had not
succeeded in backing out of the cage
as ho fought the beast off, there might
have been enacted another of the har
rowing stories that travelers tell of
the orung-outaug'u strength and fierce
ness.
"Chief" lies in the large building
near tho seal ponds. His keeper,
Jumes M. Murray, was feeding the
animals and had passed down the row
of oages, in each leaving dinner for
some hungry resident of the zoo.
He entered "Chief's" cage from the
rear, as he haa entered all the others.
The big ape was out of humor. He
had been rather surly for a day or
two, but ho had not attempted any
tricks that would remind tho keeper
to keep his eyes abont him.
Murray put the cup aud pan iu their
usual place, when, with a sudden dart
and a snarl so fierce that all the other
animals in the house began to chatter
and shrink, the orang-ontang leaped
across tho cage and gripped the keep
er's foot in his vise-like jaws. Murray
realized that his life was in danger.
There was no weapon, save the light
pan aud cup, within his reach. He
saw that it would be a hand-to-hand
struggle with tho enraged animal if he
would escape,and mth tho odds largely
iu favor of his antagonist, who had
four hands to his two and a fierce set
of teeth into the bargain.
Orang-outang fighting under snoh
circumstances was new to him, and ho
had to trust to his instinct. He leaned
over at oneo to choke the ape, bring
ing his neck within the reach of those
poworfnl spider-like arms, bat at that
moment "Chief released his grip on
his foot and made for his body as if to
bury his teeth iu the keeper's side.
Murray was too quick for him and
fought him off. Fortunately, the
orang-outang wus not in good condi
tion, long confinement having taken
from him some ot his fierceness. Mur
ray was following up his advantage
when the animal caught an opening,
and in a second had his jaws fixed on
the keeper's right arm, which had
been extended to ward him off.
Ho tugged and beat uutil finally
"Chief" let go his bite. The arm was
badly lacerated, but Murray had the
satisfaction of knowing that "Chief"
will nurse two bruised eyes for a while,
that is if thero is enough tissue round
an orang-outang's eye to show a bruise.
The keeper backed out of the cage
warily, while the snarling ape leaped
to and fro in front of him in a ferret
eyed search for u good opening. He
got away without further harm, and
had his wound dressed at tho Presby
terian hospital. Later in tho day
Murray was able to return to duty.—
Philadelphia Ledger.
A Brakeinan s Fearful Peril.
The terrible experience of Mike Mo
loney, a Cincinnati Southern freight
brakeman, at Highbridge, was not ex
aggerated by first accounts. Moloney
was running or standing upon the top
of a freight ear as the train was cross
ing the bridge. When about midway
of the structuro his foot slipped, and
he shot over the edge of the car
and started on his journey of 28G feet
to the river or rocks below. Persons
who wituossed the accident say that
Maloney grabbed wildly in all direc
tions, but could secure no hold upon
the roof of tho car. As luck would
have it, however, he fell to the side
along which tho telegraph wires run,
and, jnst as his body was about to
clear the bridge, ho grabbod a tele
graph wire with u death-like grip and
hnng thero.
This saved him from a terrible
death. A number of persons hastened
to his nssistanoe and found him too
weak to do anything for himsolf. He
was deadly pale, and big drops of
Bwent stood out all over his face. He
fainted after being removed from his
perilous position, and it was sorao
tnno after ho reached his home at
Georgetown until he began to recover
from the shock upon his nervous sys
tem, It was one of tho closest calls
any man ever had. Mnloney will
hereafter cross Highbridge in a ca
boose.—Danville (Ky.) Advocate.
Curious Surnames.
Among the ourious and suggestive
surnames in a certain county in north
Missouri are the following: Bed,
White, Blue, Green, Gray, Brown and
Black. There are also Kings, Queens,
Earls, Dukes, Marquises and Lords. In
aninipted nature are to be found
Wrens, Birds, Cows, Hawks and also
Hawkins, and Fowlers. Among quad
rupeds are Wolfe, Lamb, Lyon, Bull,
Stier and Eedheffer. At one time, in
a county in western Kansas, there
lived Redwine, Sourbeer, Drybread
and Pancake.—Chicago Tribune.
Tornado-Stricken Missouri.
According to the statißtios of the
Weather Bureau the property loss from
tornadoes during the last ten years has
been five times as great in Missouri as
in any other State.
SWEET ISLE* OF DREAMS.
Swoot Isle of Dreams! my heart would fain
Rest there, forgetting all its pain;
The wild waves all their clamor oease
And melt upon its sands in peaco.
Upon its shore wo And sweet rest,
Tho pertume of tho gardens blest,
The holy stilinossand the calm,
To weary hearts is healthy balm.
Sweet Isle ot Droams! no discord jars
The ear attuned; no harsh sound mars
The music fioatiug oa the air,
The song of seraphs, paro and fair.
But all is poace aad joy aud love,
Like thatot heavon far above,
Where angels, clad in garments while.
Chant hytnas of praise in realms of light.
Sweet Isla of Dreams! Fair Land o! sleep
O'er us the angels vigils keep;
Perchance our spirits with them ronra,
And that they tell us ot their home.
Or it may be they come in droams,
To wander with U3 by glad streams
la gardens fair; and what we see,
Waking, wo hold in memory.
—Henry Coylo, in Donahoe's,
lIL'MOB OF THE IAY.
Cora—"Love is a strange thing,"
Clara—"Oh, I don't think so. I've
been ongaged seven times."
"Faith," said the little boy after a
week's study, "faith is believing some
thing that you know can't bo true."—
Indianapolis Journal.
"day, boy, what did you kick that
dog for?" "He's mad." "No, ho
isn't mad, cither." "Well, if any ouo
should kick mo I'd be mad."—Truth,
Mrs. Pancake—"l can't soo why a
great big fellow like yon should beg."
Hungry llnuk—"Well, mum, I B'POSIV
me sizo helps to gimme an appetite."
—Truth.
"I notice that some people claim
that a doctor's whiskers may carry
diseaso germs." "Why don't tho doc
tors boil their whiskers?"— Cleveland
Plain Dealer.
Jimmy—"Would yon like to go
with them fellers that goes lookin' fer
the North Pole?" Tommy—"Wouldn't
I, though? Y'ou bet I'd bring my
skates I"—Puck.
Dr. Powder—"Ah ! how are yon to
day, Mr. Glimp?" Glimp—"Do you
ask as an inquiring friend or as my
family phyßieian?" Philadelphia
North American.
Bacon—"None of the women will
speak to Ponman sinco he wrote his
last book." Egbert—"Why is that?"
"Why, didn't you bear the name of
it? 'Women of All Ages.
"Tho marriage of tho star and the
leading lady has been declared off', I
hear. "Yes; they couldn't agree as
to whose name should bo first on tho
wedding invitations."—Puck.
His Escape.—He—"Did yon know
that our minister once had a narrow
escape from the Fiji Islanders?" She
—"How?" He—"He was on the
point of going ont among them as a
missionary, when he received a call
lrorn a congregation iu Boston."—
Puck.
"Truly," mused the Saltan, "343
queens would make a fall house." "I
wonder what his came is now?" mut
tered the Grand Vizier. But at that
moment the postman came with a
number of ultimata from tho great
Christian Powers, and the conversa
tion naturally sought other channels.
—Detroit Journal.
"The writer's name mast accompany
every communication," said the editor
to the man who had handed in a little
piece signed "Constant Bender." "I
Bee," replied tho man. "You don't
want to get the world involve I in con
troversy about the authorship of a
second series of Juuius lottere,"—
Pittsburg Chronicle-Telegraph.
"Yon women," said he, in tho pe
culiarly exasperating way a man has
of saying thoso two words, "you
women buy bargain things bcoauae
thoy are cheap." "Wo do not," said
she. "We buy cheap things because
they aro bargains." The distinction
was almost too subtle for the blunder
ing masculine intellect, but it was
there.—lndianapolis Journal.
Making Fancy Buttons.
The handsome buttons one sees on
ladies' costumes are, as a rule, import
ed from Germany nnd France. The
making of these fancy buttons is really
an art these days, such quaint and
beautiful designs are shown and such
exquisite workmanship ia displayed.
Metal buttons showing a special
device or initial on the face require a
die,and havo to he made very carefully
by machinery. Some of the finest
workmanship isshown on bone bnttons,
where the carving is done by hand and
is very delicate and artistic.—New
York Tribune.
Pictured History.
The lively optical instrument with
many names, but known in England
as the animatograph, is to be used to
preserve for posterity living pictures
of Princess Maud's wedding, tho
Derby won by the Prince of Wales,
the coming jubilee of the Queen, and
several types ot London street scenes.
The cellaloid films bearing the views
will be inclosed in several tabes, and
onght to he good for many reproduc
tions a thousand years from now.—
Chicago Inter-Ocean.
A Peculiar Complaint,
Duke George, of Saxe-Meiningen,
who a year ago met with a serious ac
cident iu (Italy, has in consequence
become the victim of a peculiar com
plaint. His hearing has been partially
destroyed in such a manner that he
hears somo notes higher, others lower,
than they really are. Masic of every
kind, therefore, hus become torture to
him, as it seems to him horribly dis
cordant. The physicians say that this
can never he cured.— Chicago Record.