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ZiU'cllshei 1888.
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FREELAND, PA., JANUARY 10, 1901.
i The Story of a Mean Man.
r This is the story of a mean man. He
may not be the meanest on record, but
be carries a very fair brand of close
flstednesu. He had a contract to sup
ply a certain amount of crushed stone.
The machine he used could turn out all
the work he could get by running eight
hours a day.
The mean man had an engineer who
was a genius. The genius went to his
employer one day and said he thought
he could make some Improvements in
that machine so It would do more work
In less time. The genius was puid I#'
the month.
He worked on the machine for sever
al days, taking it apart and putting it
together again. When reconstructed,
It proved to have greater efficiency
than before, so much so that It did the
aamo amount of work In one minute
and a half that It used to take four
and a half to do.
The mean man, however, could get
110 more contracts than before. He
could All all his orders by running
about three hours a day. The mean
man then went to the genius and said:
"Bee here, Henry, I've been paying
you by the month, but there Isn't as
much work as there used to be—not
enough to keep you busy. I shall have
to pay you by the hour after this."
Henry demurred. He had been too
faithful, but he didn't think that ought
to reduce his earnings over one-half.
His employer was firm, however, and
Henry resigned.—New York Mall and
Bxprcss.
Aa Kip.rlm.nl In Junrnallnm,
Once there was a really radical pa
per, In London it was, hut the man
who made It now lives here and tells
the tale. It was one of those papers
which are a tragedy. They represent
the wreck of the enthusiasm of strong
men who must And the outlet for their
apostolate. This paper began by being
at odds with all that was established,
and It had readers. But as time went
on the man who made the paper drove
ofT singly and In groups all those who
had begun by being his supporters. It
was found a little too radical for them,
and they no longer kept step with its
newest march.
"Of course I now can see that such a
paper was foredoomed to failure," the
editor said after he had recited the ear
ly history of his venture. "I confess
It wns pretty strong even for British
radicals. After the circulation had
dwindled down to the extremists I suc
ceeded In alienating about half of them
by denouncing social democracy as feu
dal oppression, and the other half left
me when I attacked atheism on the
•core of its superstitious tendencies.
After thnt I ran the paper as long as 1
could without any subscribers. But 1
had to give it up. Nobody would read
It except myself, and toward the end 1
had to give up reading it myself. I
found It too unsettling. So it stopped."
—New York Commercial Advertiser.
The Longest Word,
"Rob." said Tom, "which Is the most
dangerous word to pronounce In the
English language?"
"Don't know, unless It's a swearing
word."
"Fooh!" said Tom. "It's 'stumbled,'
because you are sure to get a tumble
between the Arst and last letter."
"Ha, hal" said Rob. "Now, I've got
one for you. I found it one day in
the paper. Which Is the longest word
In the English language?"
"Incomprehensibility," said Tom
promptly.
"No, sir; It's 'smiles,' because there's
a whole mile between the Arst and
last letter."
"Ho, hoi" cried Tom, "that's noth
ing. 1 know a word that has over
three miles between its beginning and
ending."
"What's that?" asked Rob faintly.
"Beleaguered," suld Tom. Fear
ion's.
Hl Accent and Ilia Country.
On one occasion during a visit to
America Michael Gunn, who assisted
Gilbert and Sullivan In bringing out
mnny of their operas, was trying tho
voices of some candidates for the cho
rus. One of them sang In a sort of
affected Italian broken English. The
•tage manager Interrupted. "Look
here," he said, "that accent won't do
for sailors <Jr pirates. Give us a little
less Mediterranean and a little more
Whltechapel."
Here Gunn turned and said: "Of
what nationality are you? You don't
sound Italian."
The other suddenly dropped his Ital
ian accent and In Irish said, "Shore,
Mr. Gunn, I'm from the same country
as yourself,"
LOVE'S MOODS.
I thought of my love in the distance!
Silent and wild was the place.
Iu a moment her voice lent its music.
And around shone the light of her face—
Her face, and hers only I
I tood in my love's sweet presence.
But a mood wrapped her soul from all view;
We spake, but on flowed the silence
And deeper the solitude grew—
How deep and how lonely!
—Edith M. Thomas in Harper's Bazar.
Ot&rjPM # ******
I Anne Bede's Debt. J
ft' ]v
ft Her Bister Would Obey the Law, $$
ft Though She Waa Innocent. M
I !
$£ By Koloman Mikszrath. •
■:> AX4A4A* <4 *4 4 * < A* 44*****0
■ The Judges were in their places.
Outside the fog weighed heavily upon
the shapeless building, effaced the
walls aud glued itself to the windows,
concealing their frosty flowering.
In the hail itself the air was thick
I and stifling. It smelled of sheepskins,
peasants, eau-de-vie, and the leaden
1 ventilators in the upper glasses of the
skylight turned slowly and slotlifully.
The jurors, too, leaned wearily
against the hacks of their chairs. One
of them had closed his eyes and let his
hand fall inert, lulled to somnolence by
the monotonous scratching of the
clerk's pen. Another tapped and softly
beat the rataplan with his pencil on the
table.
The president pushed his spectacles
to the tip of his nose and mopped his
damp brow, his stern gray eyes, with a
glacial stare, bent fixedly upon the
door whence* would issue the culprits
in course of trial and on whom they
waited to pronounce sentence.
"Is there not still another one?" de
manded he presently of the sleepy look
ing tipstaff at his elbow in a harsh, res
onant voice.
"One," responded the other; " a girl."
"Eh, bien! Bring her in then," said
the president.
The crier called, the door opened, the
girl entered.
A current of fresh air glided in with
her and softly fanned the faces and tic
kled the lashes of the curious assist
ants. At the same moment a ray of
sunlight pierced tho shrouding fog and
danced between the frosty etchings of
the panes across the dusty walls and
furniture of tho Hall of Audience.
| "A girl," said tho tipstaff—a child,
' rather, scarcely more than on the verge
! of maidenhood and so pretty in her lit
j tie furred jacket embroidered with
wreaths and blossoms and fitting like
the skin the rounded waist, straight
and slender as the stem of a young
palm. Her black eyes were lowered to
the floor, but her white brow was clear
and unclouded.
"What is it thnt you have done, my
child?" questioned the president Indif
ferently.
The girl nervously rearranged the
handkerchief that covered her head,
caught her breath heavily, then an
swered, sighing:
"My affair is sad, M. President; very,
very sad."
ller voice, soft and dolorous, went to
the heart like good music thnt even
when one hears it no longer seems still
to vibrato in the air and change every
thing by its mysterious influence.
The faces of the jurors were no lon
ger so morose. The portrait of the
king and farther away still of the Ju
dex Curie appeared to make to her
from tho silent wall benignant signs,
encouraging her to bravely recount the
affair, "so very, very sad."
"But see you," said she, "this writ
ing. It will tell you better than I can."
Only she had first to seek it, to un
clasp the buttons of her corsage and
draw it from her bosom, a piece of
crackling parchment stamped and clos
ed with the ponderous official seal.
"A judgment," murmured the presi
dent. running his eye over the paper,
"a judgment against Anne Bede, as
signed to begin today a punishment of
six months' imprisonment."
The girl nodded sorrowfully; the
handwriting, loosened by the' move
ment, fell from her hand, and a heavy
tress of her long black hair all unbound
veiled her features. It sought perhaps
to shield them from the gaze of the
people, for if she was white as a lily
awhile ago she was purple with shame
at this moment.
I "It is a week since we received it,"
! stammered she in a broken voice. "The
! court officer brought it himself and ex
plained what it wished to tell us, and
my poor mother said to me: 'Thou must
go, my child. The law is the law, and
i one should not take it as a pleasantry.'
I have come, therefore, to—to begin the
I six months!"
1 The president wiped his glasses, then
1 wiped again, his cold, stern gaze seek
! ing the faces of his colleagues, the win
dows, the floor, the great iron stove,
through whose grated door fiery eyes
seemed to sparkle and threateningly re
-1 gard him.
! "The law," murmured he, "the law is
! the law!"
! And he read anew the summary be
fore him, the black, scrawling scratch
es across the white page, declaring,
"Anne Bede condemned to six months'
imprisonment for the receiving of stol
en goods."
Meanwhile tho leaden ventilator had
quickened its pace and spun furiously.
Outside the wind had risen, and now it
shook the windows, whistled through
the crevices and seemed to hiss re
morselessly about the ears of the gap
ing crowd:
"The law; yes, the law is the law!"
The head of the president bent af
firmatively before this importunate
voice. He dropped his eyes and touch
ed the bell for the tipstaff.
i "Accompany Anne Bede," said he, "to
the house of the Inspector of prisons."
I The man bowed, the child turned obe
diently, but her little rose red Hps open
ed and shook tremulously, as If words
were on them that she could not speak.
"Perhaps, my child," said the presi
dent, noticing her distress, "perhaps
you still have something to say to us."
"Only that I am Lizette—Llzette
Bede, M. le President. Anne Bede was
my sister, and we buried her, poor girl,
a week ago."
" 'Twos not you then that was con
demned and sentenced?" cried the pres
ident, surprised.
"Ah, bon Dleu, no! Why should I
have been condemned who have never
done harm to a fly?"
"Then why are you hero, mad child
that you are?"
"Because, If you please. It Is because
Anne died while this business was be
fore the royal table (the lower court of
Hungary). "It was when she was lying
in her coffin all cold and white that this
order concerning the six months ar
rived certifying that she must submit.
Oh. how she had waited and prayed for
it and tried so hard to live to receive It!
She had never dreamed of this, M. le
President, and when they had taken j
her away with closed eyes, mute and
deaf forever, my mother and I told our- |
selves that we must repair the wrong j
she had done because of her fiance, Ga
briel Karloney. It was for him and
without knowing It that she sinned,
and we thought"—
"What, my child?"
"That to let her rest peacefully In her
mortal ashes and that 110 one should
say she owed them anything, that we
must do as I said, repair the wrong
done by her. My mother has paid the
amende for the goods, and I have come,
M. le President, to serve in her place
for six months in the county prison."
To servo in her sister's place!
"What Innocence, what simplicity!
The Jurors smiled broadly. The face
of the president was no longer cold or
ceremonious, nor was It precisely his
brow from which he mopped the mois
ture with a large yellow handkerchief.
"It Is well," said he. "You were
right, my child; but—but, now that I
think of it"—
He stopped, frowned and seemed to
reflect Intently. "Now that I think of
it," continued he, "there was an error
In this affair. We have, my dear child,
sent you the wrong document."
"The wrong document, M. le Presi
dent?" faltered Lizette, raising her
great, sorrowful eyes to his face with a
gaze of heartbreaking reproach, "the
wrong document?"
She could say no more, and the presi
dent himself was no less moved.
"The wrong document, my child,
yes," said he firmly, rising from his
seat to tenderly pass his hand across
the shining lialr. "Beyond there,"
pointing to the heaven above them
through the mist veiled window, "jus
tice has giveu another verdict. Go now
to thy mother and tell her from me
that thy sister was not a criminal, that
Anne was Innocent.
"Before God, at least," added he in a
tone only audible to his own great
heart, "before God, at least!"— Tran
slated From the Hungarian For St.
Louis Post-Dispatch.
The Rarly Itlnlnu; I'nd.
Early rising has been Inculcated as a
wholesome practice from time Imme
morial. and to those who can contrive
to get to bed also in good time Is unob
jectionable In every way; but, 011 the
other hand, if the employment Is of
such a nature as to prevent the occupa
tion of the bed at a proportionately ear
ly hour It Is absurd to recommend the
one without the other. Some persons
require six or seven, some eight or nine
hours in the 24, hut If we all made a
practice of getting up as soon as we
wake we should find that the sleep
would he sounder and more wholesome
and that It would be seldom extended
beyond seven or eight hours.
The plan of rising a long time before
breakfast and taking a walk on an
j empty stomach is undoubtedly a bad
one, and though It may be adopted by
some people without injury, yet If at
j tempted by those of delicate constitu
tion it will do a vast deal of harm.
Ilalf an hour or an hour before that
j meal may well be passed in a Rhort
walk, but beyond that time the stom
ach becomes weakened In tone, and
the meal when taken Is followed by a
! dull and heavy sensation of fatigue
and llstlessness Instead of the sprightly
readiness for the day's occupation,
j which it ought to be the ambition of
j every one to possess.—Health.
An Amiable Vlollnlat.
Robert Browning and Joachim met
one evening at a friendly gathering In
London. The violinist had "obliged"
without satisfying certain ladies, who
entreated the poet to obtain from him
another solo. Browning, feeling the
delicacy of his task, discharged It dip
lomatically and spoke, as sometimes
he wrote, so as to conceal his thoughts,
while the violinist, not understanding,
bowed and smiled and did not play.
As they left the house Joachim ask
ed, "What did you mean just now?"
"Oh," said the poet, "I wanted you
to give us some more music."
"Then why did you not come and
! say, 'Joe, old boy, give us another
I tune?' " returned the amiable violinist.
Halcyon Days.
The term "halcyon days" Is derived
from a pretty little fable of the Siclll
j ans, who believed that during the sev
en days preceding and following the
j winter solstice, Dec. 21. the halcyon or
kingfisher floated 011 the water in a
nest in which her young were deposited
and that during this time of her brood
ing the sens were calm. Our Indian
summer corresponds to the halcyon of
the Sicilians.
In 1845 the postage on a letter from
New York to Wisconsin was 25 cents.
People wrote long letters In those days
In a fine copperplate hand on thin pa
per to svt the worth of their money,
but tbey wrote seldom.
He Joke. No More.
"Jake," Inquired one of the younger
of the knights of the road of an old
drummer, "what made you lame?"
"Overexertion at praetleaJ Joking."
"Tell that to the lambs."
"That's dead right, sonny. Cracked
one too many, and It left me lame for
life. Ask any of the old boys. That
game of clnche came In when I was
traveling to whnt were then the new
silver mining districts In Colorado.
You call It pedro In this state, I guess.
"Well, I had a reputation for Joking
those days—sort of an advertisement,
you know. There was a good deal of
shouting and shooting through the cell
ing that night, but everybody was good
natured and Jolly until five hands were
played without a pedro being caught.
The bidders did nothing but go In the
hole and were getting uglier every
deal.
I "At last I could contain myself no
longer, and announced with an up
roarious laugh that 1 had abstracted
the five spots. The general storekeep
er was a friend of mine and promptly
threw me from the second story win
dow. But they are great wing shots
out there, and two of them got me.
You'll notice that the lobe of my left
ear Is gone. The other bullet was ex
tracted from my leg under the super
vision of the vigilance committee. I
have been an ex-Joker ever since."—
Detroit Free Press.
The Story of a Picture.
Benjamin West's picture of the
"Death of NelBon" Is closely connected
with an anecdote of the great sailor.
Just before he went to sea for the last
time he was present at a dinner, dur
ing which be sat between the artist
and Sir William Hamilton. Nelson was
expressing to Hamilton hla regret that
he bad not. In Ills youth, acquired some
taste for art and some discrimination
In Judging It "But" said he, turning
to West "there Is one picture whose
power 1 do feeL 1 never pass a shop
where your 'Death of Wolfe' Is In the
window without being stopped by It"
West made some gracious answer to
the compliment and Nelson went on,
"Why have you painted no more like
It?"
"Because, my lord." West replied,
"there are no more subjects."
"Ah," said the sailor, "I didn't think
of that"
"But my lord," continued West "I
am afraid your Intrepidity will yet
furnish me with another such scene,
and If It should I shall certainly avail
myself of It"
"Will you?" said Nelson—"will you,
Mr. West? Then I hope I shall die In
the next battle!"
A few days later he sailed, his
strangely expressed aspiration was re
alized, and the scene lives upon can
vas.
Worn Than HI. Own.
A gentleman who owns one of the
finest estates In the north of Ireland,
while In his gardens one morning, no
ticed one of the laborers very badly
clad and asked blm:
"Have you no better clothes than
those. Mat?"
"No, In troth, yer honor, worse luck,"
replied Mat
"Well, call at the house this evenlug
on your way home," said the gentle
man. "I'll leave an old suit of mine
with the butler for you."
A few days later, when showing a
party of visitors through the gardens,
be was much annoyed to see Mat look
ing, if possible, more a scarecrow than
ever.
"Why are you still wearing those old
clothes, Mat?" he asked.
"Sure, yer honor, they're the best I
have," replied Mat.
"But did you not get the suit I left
for you the other day?" asked the gen
tleman.
"Indeed, an I did, thank yer honor
kindly," replied Mat; "but, sure, I had
to lave them at home to be mended."
London Tlt-Blts.
How tbe Artist Was Called.
When Henry S. Watson, the Illustrat
or, landed at Naples, he did not know
much about European travel. He bad
to make some sketches in the villages
about Naples, and his experiences have
filled him with wonder enough for a
lifetime. His deft pencil helped him u
hit. At one little village inn be tried
to get It through the landlord's head
that he was to be called early In the
morning. He couldn't make himself
understood. At last he drew a picture
of himself lying In bed, the sun peep
ing through the window, the clock at
the hour of 6 and the chambermaid
knocking at the door. Then It was
quite plain, and they woke him on the
tick.—Saturday Evening I'ost
Couldn't Imagine.
Uncle SI, from Upcreek, had Just left
an aching molar at the dentist's and
stopped at n lunch counter for a sooth
ing beverage.
"Gimme a cup of eawfee," he said,
sitting down on the first vacant stool.
"Draw one!" called out the girl be
hind the counter.
"That's what he did!" responded Un
cle SI, with a delightful grin. "How'd
you know It?" Chicago Tribune.
Literary Note.
She was a bright girl at Mount Hol
yoke college. It happened that day
that tbey had hash for supper and
meat balls the next morning for break
fast "Yes," she said as she glanced at
the table; "Review of Reviews this
morning."—Boston Journal.
The world Is patiently waiting the
advent of the man who can explain
why a baby never wants to play In the
coal scuttle until after It has been
dressed for company.—Omaha World
llcrald.
You will never know what It Is to bs
sick and tired of good advice until you
have run a newspaper 20 or 30 years.—
Atchison Globe.
SHORT NEWS STORIES.
Tl Wince Reproved the Count.
Her Wish Gratified— A King
Oacar Story.
Italy's new king munlfests the same
horror as his father for everything that
Is In the least degree shady or unques
tionable and has driven out of the ar
my a number of officers who had ren
dered themselves guilty of unsavory
transactions. A short time before
his father's deutli he happened to be
obliged to receive In audience a Roman
count who he knew had been sneer
ing at the late king's democratic ways.
Just as the count was about to take his
leave the prince, with a smile, exclaim
ed, "By the bye, I hear that you are the
president of the company." Some
what embarrassed, the count replied,
"Certainly; one must find some outlet
for one's activity."
"Is there no other outlet for your ac
tivity than that?" Inquired the prince.
"Surely for a man like yourself, the
head of a family such as yours, there is
the army, a political career or philan
thropy. One of your ancestors. I re*
member, fell by the side of my ances
tor, Emmanuel Flliberto." And then
the prince went on to enumerate the
names of a number of the count's for
bears who had played a glorious role
In the military, political and adminis
trative service of Italy. He added,
"When one bears such a name as
yours, one has no right to serve any
thing save one's country and human
ity."
"But I am not serving anybody," re
plied the sadly disconcerted count.
"That's so," exclaimed Victor Em
manuel. "You are serving nothing but
your own interests." And with that he
turned his back to him.
Her WUh Was Gratified.
Going abroad on the Oceanic Mrs.
Sarah A. Dalley, a Denver woman,
made the acquaintance of Paderewskl,
rolutes the Denver I*ost. She had nev
er seen the pianist before and did not
recognize who he was. Sitting upon
SUB CREPT UP REFUND HIM.
the deck one day beside another femi
nine passenger, she watched with Im
patience the famous Polish chrysanthe
mum as he paced the deck.
"Dear me," exclaimed Mrs. Dailey to
the woman sitting near her, "I should
like to run my lingers Into that man's
hair."
"Would you?" replied the other.
"Well, you may do so. That Is Mr.
Paderewski, my husband. I am sure
ho would not object. Come; I'll intro
duce you."
Mrs. Dailey was at first taken aback,
but when Mrs. Paderewskl explained
the circumstances to her husband the
pianist laughed heartily. A day or two
later Mrs. Dailey came upon him play
ing u Chopin number in his cabin. She
crept up behind him and daintily ran
her fingers through his hair, causing
him a great deal of amusement.
Trylnif to Find n Compliment.
Among other accomplishments Charles
Battell Loomis, the humorist, recites,
lie imitates Dr. Talmage, says The
Saturday Evening Post. "The only
time my imitation of I)r. Talinage real
ly goes for anything," said Mr. Loomis,
"is when there are n lot of clergymen
|ln the audience. There were 17 on
; shipboard during a recent transatlantic
| voyage, and they wanted me to recite
j it three times a day."
| One of the 17 clergymen on board
■ was a silent man from New llamp-
I shire. He did not speak to any one.
i He did not even speak to the humorist
who was turniug the ship topsyturvy
j with his droll verses, his imitations
and recitations. After they landed at
Amsterdam, however, the silent clergy
man came up to Mr. Loomis ou the
i dock and held out his hand.
"I've just learned that you are Mr.
Loomis, the humorist," he said gloom
ily. "Some time I hope to know you
| better."
That was all he said. He wont away
I with his usual melancholy dignity, and
i Mr. Ix>omis is getting gray hairs try
ing to find a compliment in the remark.
A Kins Oacar Story.
King Oscar of {•Jwedon, who is an ac
complished scholar more interested in
books than in the affairs of his king
dom, Inherits a gift for oratory from
! his French ancestry and is nothing
! loath to air It when occasion demands.
. He even seeks the opportunity to prove
, his modern conception of a king's obli
gations and, with several languages at
his command, often addresses learned
bodies as well as political assemblages.
Quite recently, since the present out
break in China, his majesty, in address
j ing the members of a society for the
I cultivation of foreign languages, em
ployed during the evening no fewer
than five different tongues. One of the
members, after the address, said to the
king: "Your majesty is a splendid lin
guist. Can your majesty speak Chi
; nese?" "Sir," replied the king, with
dignity, "I have many failings, as I
myself well know, but heaven forbid
; that I should ever be cursed with such
a crime as that!"
Told i( the Club.
'lt's this way," said T. Willis Rock-
Ingham, "Brown-Jones asks me down
from Saturday to Monday. Want ts
go and 1 go. Haven't seen 8.-J. for
months; not since ho got married to
money, l'oor old chap." T. Willie
sighed and took another observation In
his glass.
"Find 8.-J. looking welL Seems a
bit nervous, though. You know his
florid style. Scatters your wits and
keeps you from thinking. Mrs. 8.-J.
well, I can't help seeing she bltea her
lips a lot. Squally sign. Thinks 1,
T. Willie, little old New York Is good
enough for you. You were In a better
place there. Nothing happens though—
not yet—and I begin to forget. Nlee
country place. Dinner,. billiards and
the downy. Then It's Sunday. Morn
ing goes. Afternoon comes. 8.-J.
sends for the horses. Begins to crack
on a bit as we stand In the window
watching the brutes come up the drive*
Been talking quite tall all day about
'his place' and 'his plans.' Mrs. 8.-J.
biting her lips all the time. Now he
lets on about 'bis' quadrupeds. Trans
parent bluff. What do 1 care? I like
to see a man happy. 8.-J. prattling
along. Mrs. 8.-J. bites her lips some
more. Out we go to the vehicle. "Like
to let you drive, old man.' says mine
host 'Know you're A1 with the rib
bons, but 1 always think my horse*
like my bnnd best' Storm breaks.
I " 'My horses!' snys my lady, scream
ing out the flrst word.
"8.-J. turns pale. Then he straight
ens up.
j " 'Yes, your horses,' he says. "You
! own them. You own this place and
all that goes with It You own me.
Will you assist Mrs. Brown-Jones,
i Wllller "
| T. Willie Rockingham shuddered.
"Marry money?" he gulped out "Bl
ouse me, I'd rather work."—New York
Sun.
A Snraieal Operation.
The Army and Navy Journal telle
this story about the late Dr. Lewis A.
Sayre of New York city:
"When a young medical student at
i the College of Physicians and Snrgeons
In New York, one of the operating phy
sicians was about to cut off an Irish
man's leg, but before beginning the op
eration gave a long talk to the students
on amputation. The Irishman lay on
the operating table In full possession
of his faculties, and as be listened to
i the discourse he grew whiter and whit
er. Finally he Jumped from the oper
ntlng table, crying: 'Get me me breech
es, be gob! I'll die with me leg on."
And with that he was out of the room.
"Dr. Sayre found him several days
later with his knee badly swollen. The
young doctor promptly cut open the
knee, but saved the leg. One day he
had no lint to bind the wound, so he
used the tow stuffing sticking out of an
old horsehair sofa. When he called
i again, he found the wound so much Im
proved that he reasoned that tow dip
ped In Peruvian balsam would not only
disinfect a wound, but would keep It
! free from pus.
"This was the foundations one of
the most satisfactory successes he ever
, had In surgery. It was the means of
Introducing Into the army the use of
tarred bemp. or oakum, as a dressing
for wounds."
Oar Race For Money.
"If It Is not true that we Americans
\ regard money making as the work for
which life was given to us. why, when
, we have millions, do we go on strug
gling to make more millions and more?"
| writes "An American Mother" In Th#
Ladles' Home Journal. "It ts not so
! with the older races. The London
tradesman at middle age abuts his
shop, buys an acre In tbo suburbs and
lives oil a small Income or spends the
rest of his life In losing It In poultry
or fancy gardening. The German or
Frenchman seldom works when past
GO. He gives his Inst years to soms
study or hohliy—music, a mlcroscops,
: or It may be domlnos. You meet him
and Ills wife, Jolly, shrewd. Intelligent,
Jogging all over Europe. Baedeker In
hand. They tell you they 'have a cu
riosity to see this fine world befors
: they go out of It.' "
A Blflllng.
Dr. Conan Doyle tells this story of a
Boer and an English soldier who lay
: wounded side by aide on the field of
battle: "They had a personal encoun
ter, In which the soldier received n bul
let wound nnd the burgher a bayonet
thrust before they both fell exhausted
on the field. The Britisher gave tho
Boer a drink out of his flask, and tha
burgher, not to be outdone In courtesy,
handed a piece of biltong In exchnngs.
In the evening, when their respective
ambulances came to carry tbem off to
the hospital, they exchanged friendly
greetings. 'Goodby, mate,' said tbo
soldier. 'What a blessing It Is we mst
each other!'"
A Fetching Compliment,
i She was not from Chicago.
"Do not anger me," she said.
"How am I to know when you are
angry ?" be nsked.
"I always stamp my feet," she an
swered.
He looked down at her dainty shoes.
"Impossible," he said. "There Isn't
room for a stnmp on either of them."
That fetched her.—Cleveland Plata
Dealer.
Put'. Retort.
An Irishman passing a store In Lon
don saw nothing Inside but a man at
a table. The thing struck him as being
very odd, so he went In and Inquired
what was sold there. "Asses' beads."
said the man at the table. "They must
he In great demand," said Pat. "for I
see you have only your own left."
A drawback to Amity.
Judge—Well. Mrs. Jopps, what fault
have you to find with your husband?
Mrs. Jopps—Now, Jedge. It's this way:
He's awful good an kind, but he's so
! peaky uufinanshul.—Detroit Free Press,