Newspaper Page Text
6
WEALTH, fame. t-TFE, DEAT*.
What is fame?
'Tin the sun-gleam on the mountain,
Rprwullng brightly ere it flies,
Tie the bubble on the fountain,
Rising lightly ere it dies;
Or. if here and there a hero
Re remembered through the years
Yet to him the gain is zero—
Death has stilled his hope* and fears.
Yet what dangers men will dare
If lint only in the air
Mav be heard some eager mention of their
name:
Though they hear it not themselves, tis
much th<- same.
What is wealth '
Tis a rainbow still receding
As the panting fool pursues,
dm toy that youth, unheeding,
Keeks the readiest way to lose:
Rut tin- wise man keeps due measure,
Neither out of breath nor base;
But he holds in trust his treasure
For the welfare of the race.
Yet what crimes some rneu will dare
But to gain their slender share
In some profit, though with loss of name or
health:
In some plunder, spent on vices or bv stealth
What is life!*
Tis the earthly hour of trial
For a life that’s just began!
When the prize of self-denial
May be i|uickiy lost or won:
’Tis the hour when love may bourgeon
To an everlasting flower;
• >r when lusts their victims urge on
To defy immortal power.
Yet how lightly men ignore
All the future holds m store.
Bpending brief but golden moments all in
strife;
-Jr in suicidal madness grasp the knife.
What is death?
Fast, its dark, mysterious portal
Human eyes may never roam;
Yet the hope still springs immortal
That it, leads the wanderer home.
Oh. the bliss that lies before us
When the secret shall be known,
And the vast, angelic chorus
Bounds the hymn before the throne!
What is fame, or wealth, or life?
Past are praises, fortune, strife;
All but love, that lives forever, cast beneath,
When the good and faithful servant takes
the wreath.
— London Academy.
A LION AT LAEGE.
nv S. A. AVEIKS.
Thft -stage-coach which twice a week
passed through Five-Forks was later than
usual this morning. The few people of
Loth sexes Avho had come in from the
surrounding farms for letters and parcels
were gathered about the postoffice and
blacksmith’s shop discussing somewhat
f-xcitededly the latest local topic of in¬
terest .
“I know it for a tact,” said a burly
farmer in mud-bespattered leggings,
“seeing 1 was over at Beaver Junction
Avhcn it happened. Two of the freight
ears jumped the track and smashed a
couple o' circus cages. There warn’t
much trouble with the b’ar and liayena,
but the lion tuck to the woods, and the
last 1 hcern o’ him he was rankin’ tracks
down this way.”
“Then you ain’t hcerd that he was
caught last night?” said another, “I
know it lor sartiu, lor a lot o’ the circus
folks passed by my brother Sam's farm
with the critter in a wagon just ez the
moon riz.”
“Arfter he’d killed Widder Giles's cow
and a lot o' hogs in the scrub,” added a
third. “Likely as not lie’s got loose ag’in,
for old Mrs. Carper lieerd a terruble
roarin’ in the avoocIs jest before daylight
this raorniu’.”
“Maybe she never lieerd Jones's black
bull before, hollering down iu the med
der,” remarked some oue, drily.”
“But Jones found a couple o’ his sheep
killed last night. It mought abeendorgs;
but Jones says it looks mighty like lion’s
work ”
,
“Shucks! What docs lie know about
lion’s work ? Couldn’t tell a lion from a
sea serpent if lie was to see’em.”
Just here the stage-coach appeared in
sight, and presently deposited a solitary
passenger in front of the postoffice.
He was a tall, slim and rather super
ci lions-look ing young man, aftired in gar
meats of the latest cut and wearing a
gorgeous necktie, on which Avas eonspieu
ously perched an opal spider Avith golden
legs and diamond eyes.
Glancing haughtily around, he inquired
of the postmaster whether Doctor Dodd
was there to meet him. and appeared
much annoyed when answered in the
negative, and further informed that no
conveyance coujd be had to the doctor's
—some six miles distant.
••Will!” whispered a rosy-cheeked girl,
bending from the tall sorrel on which
die wa< mounted, “that’s Mr. Perkins—
Kittv Parsons's beau—and he’s come up
’o be married. 1 know he was expected
it the Dodds's lo-day. Sally Dodd told
Nelly so for a secret at meetin’ last Sun
bn. \ ou know Sally's his cousin, and
twas there he first met Kittv.”
•lie looks like a stuck-up prig,” said
Mill, surveying Mr. Perkins contempt
uously. “ Anybody can <ee that the
hardest work he's ever done was measur
in' ribbons and ealiker. Aud the idea
Kitty Parsons throwing over Dax'e
Cooper for a feller like that !”
•But it wasn't her fault, vou know,”
>aid th»- girl, deprecatingly. Her
lather would have it so on account of his
money When the old mau told Dave
r hat twasn’t any use for him to come any
more :h*t he a-courtin’Kitty,Dave just answered
they never havin' meant to give her up. Aud
now re the marriage in this
mean, sneakin fashion, for fear that
Cuvt 11 hear of it and interfere somehow,
Kitty s Auut Sabina says Dave hasn't
" rb to Kitty since he went away in the
spring, and Kitty thinks he's forgotten
U' .. and says she don t care what becomes
>fher now.'
“That 's some of 0 ld Squire Parsons’s
work. I’ll bet.' <tid a young mau. who
was standing dost to Mattie, “for Dave
••"M me that he never got an answer to
ai> letters. No doubt her father and auut
.xept em back from her. But never
mind. I gut-si he 11 have sometning to do
with thi> weddin be fori it comes off.'
But that 11 be to-night, the
girl
li*-night , Aon don t mean it. Mat
lief 'by, I thought twas fixed for to
morrow
“Ss „ , but for
twas: some reason they've
banged it for to-day. tsally says so.”
Je-ru sa-lem And I wrote Dave that
twas fixed for Thursday night, and be
" ing, x when ^ it band li be till too to-morrow late. By Jingo! morn
• “ »i ve a hundred dollars iown to pre
vat this marriage till Davr comes
The three looked at each ether in sya-
THE MONROE ADVERTISER, FORSYTH, GA, TUESDAY, APRIL 1,1890--EIGHT
pathetic dismay, and the girls said, with
energy: Would
“Oh. if that lion just come
along and him up! - ’
eat
Her brother Will’s face suddenly
brightened. He was a stalwart young
fellow, with p broad chest, a good
uatured freckled face, and eyes full of
fun.
“By Jinks, Mattie, you've hit it pretty
close! I guess we can manage it with
Muugo to help, and he’ll do anything for
pay in watermelons.”
The two young men walked toward a
huge colored giant who was lolling in a
fer.ee-corner, and as they talked to him
his immense mouth opened in a laugh
which could bar* been hoard half a mile
distant. % .
In a few moments he trotted off briskly
up the road, and Will and Mattie, having
received their parcels, soon followed,
while Hiram approached the forlorn stage
passenger.
“I see you’re in a fix,” he said, -‘and
as I’ve got a vacant seat in my buggy,
maybe I can help you a bit. I’m going
rig lit past the Dodds's place, and can set
you down at the *at« as easy as not.”
Perkins glanced disparagingly at the
dignified plain, little, mud-bespattered vehicle
with the name buggy, but con
descended to accept the offer.
And presently, after some intentional
delay on Hiram's part, they were leisurely
‘ jogging along the rough road.
country
“I suppose you ain’t afraid of the
lion?” Hiram remarked, as, after a mile
or two, they approached a thick wood
thiough which the road lay.
kins, .“Lion. with What look ol lion? sudden inquired interest. Per
a
And then came out the story of the
wild beast which was supposed by some
to be roaming about the Five-Forks
neighborhood, seeking whom or what he
might devour.
Perkins looked A'ery much startled,
and glanced cautiously on each side the
road and toward the dusky Avood.
“I should think,’ he faltered, “that
aw! it would not he safe; that—
ahem! perhaps we d better turnback,
as I have no pistols; and, in fact, I—I
ain t used to lions!”
“Well, we’ve come about half way
without seeing anything of the critter,
aud maybe we might as well go on. If
we once get past that holler down there,
which is the very place where a lion or
a painter would choose to hide, I shall
feel tol’rable safe. 1 have a pistol, and—
Jerusalem! what’s that?”
From the rocky hollow in front of
them, OA’ershadowed by dense trees, came
at this moment a hoarse, muttered sound,
like the growl of a wild beast.
Perkins turned very pale, and even the
spider on his scarf seemed to change to
a livid hue and to tremble on its golden
legs.
Before he could say a word the growl
had increased to a tremendous roar, and
Hiram, as if terror-stricken, wheeled his
horse and drove back at a pace which
threatened to jolt to pieces lus light :
vehicle.
The terrified horse needed no urging,
and Perkins, pale as death and trembling |
all over, could barely manage to hold on
to ihe vehicle Avith both hands, as it
bumped and bounced over the rough
roaf T
Hiram’s face was very red, and he
seemed struggling to suppress certain
odd gurgling and gasping sounds which
threatened to choke him.
After awhile they turned off from the
imun road and dashed into the yard of a
small farmhouse on the edge of the
wood.
It AVas Will Owens’s home, and he and
one of his brothers rushed to the door,
while Mattie, Avith an apron half hiding
her head and face looked timidly from
the Avindow.
“What’s the matter. Hi, for goodness*
sake? Seen the lion?”
“Just missed him! May be on our
track now. Quick, Will! help Mr. Per
kius into the house, aud help mo to put
away the horse in the woodshed. We’d
better make everything straight, for I
tell you there’s something down yonder
iu the bottom,”
“But, oh. Hiram! if that dreadful
creature comes to-night he can jump in
a* the windows! There are no shut
tors!” cried Mattie, wringing her hands,
“Did you hear he had killed Mungo,
j w ho lives in the log cabin near the bot
{t 0 ®?’* said Will. “And if lie's once
J there fixed till himself lie's hunted m that place, he’ll stay
i out.
Of course there was no question of
Hiram or Mr. Perkins leaving the house
that night. About dark, and twice dur
big the night, the same awful roar was
heard, once so near the house that Per
j bins’* blood curdled with horror and he
nearly fainted. - *
j Others heard it also, and by morning
the neighborhood Avas in a state of wild
* excitement.
No oue would venture off their own
places save a few young men, who, on
i sw iR horses, sped to their nearest neigh
j bors, to consult about what was best to
be done in order to rid themselves of the
terrible beast.
Fearful stories were circulated. One
woman, while milking on the previous
evening, had seen a lions head looking
over a hedge: and a man, coming through
the woods last night, had beheld the
j dusky form of the creature, crouched in
the fork of a tree, ready for a spring.
The only person who manifested an
utter disbelief in these stories, and in
the presence of the lion, was Squire Par
?ons. Kitty s father.
The old man had been greatly exer
cised by the non-appearance of his ex
pected son-in-law, when everything was
arranged for the marriage, and the pastor
waiting to perform the ceremony.
Neither had the Dodds made their ap
pearauce—for, in fact, the report of the
“bon at large had frightened even the
old doctor from meeting his kinsman at
Five Forks.
The squire had heard of the latter *
arrival in the stage coach, but the first
information as to his present whereabouts
from Hiram himself, Avho, fearing
lest he might proceed to make inquiries
at Five-Forks, slipped over early in the
morning.
The squire listened with supreme con
tempt to the account of Perkins's fright
at the Bottom, and their turning back to
seek refuge at Will Owens’s.
“Look-a-here. Hiram,” he said dog
gedly. “I don’t purfess to be a fool, an’
i I dou t believe in that ther’ lion! I
heard the roarin’, but it sounded to me
mighty like that ther' Mungo and his
big brother, with a tetch of old Owens's
brass militia horn throwed in. As to
Jeems Perkins, go and tel! him for me
that I'll give him to twelve o’clock noon
♦,-> put in appearance , and if he ain't
here by that time I'll go over to Owens's
and-fetch him in my W 3 gia. lion or
"
lion!”
' Hiram approved of this plan, though
! Kitty tearfully opposed it, until he man
aged to whisper a few words, unheard
! ' by the rest.
Then it was wonderful how her prettt
face brightened up, and how she sud
j denly changed from tears to smiles,
: Hiram, having witnessed this transfor¬
mation, rode away, and was at Five
Forks by eleven o’clock, in time to wel
j come a fine, manly-lookiug young fel
j low, “Dave.” whom he cheerily addressed a
i
Squire Parsons kept his word, and by
noon the expected bridegroom had not
appeared. The old man harnessed his
wagou and started off in search of him.
I Rut scarcely had he departed when an
other wagon drove up to the gate, and
Kitty, rushing out of the house, was re
reived into Dave Cooper’s eager arms,
lifted into the vehicle, and driven off be
fore the astonished eyes of Aunt Sabina,
j who stood helplessly wringing her hands
i on the front xteps.
j “Well,” he said in the squire, when on his
I return took the whole situation,
“it mayn’t be so bad to let Kitty have
her own way, after all. Money don’t
pay a woman for having a chicken-hearted
fool for a husband, that can't tell big
throated Mungo and a brass horn from a
lion. Let’s have some supper, Sabiny,
and to-morrer you may as well send that
weddin’ cake to Kitty and Dave, by the
way of helping ’em to begin housekeep
in ’.”—Saturday Night.
--- ■ -
Parental Affections in Eagles,
“I see a great deal of talk in the pa
persevery little while.” said a man who
has p> u ilt many miles of railroads and
contracted for any number of big en
gmeering enterprises, “about the foolish
ness of having the eagle as the emblem
u f our country. He is represented as s
cowardly, thievish, unintelligent bird,
and any number of other fowls of the
a ir are p U t forward as candidates for tht
proud position of the Nation’s bird.
Now I am not an ornithologist, so I air
not prepared to argue over the relative
merits of the different flyers, and I must
confess that the eagle is a thief always
and a coward very often, but that ho is
lacking in intelligence I most emphatic¬
ally deny. Let me tell you one little
story of him that puts him in a A'ery fa¬
vorable light.”
The speaker was one of a little partj
that had just finished dinner at an up¬
town hotel a few evenings ago, and his
companions jumped at the chance of
hearing an interesting tale over their
cigars.
“About twenty years ago,” lie began,
“I was engaged in building a big Western
road, and oue spring day avc pitched our
camp on the banks of one of the turbu¬
lent rivers of the region and settled down
for a three months’ job on a ravine
bridge. A few days later we noticed an
eagle’s nest perched up the bluff across
the river-and the folloAA'ing Sunday two
of our men swam the stream during the
absence of the old birds and brought °
back two vigorous eaglets with them.
“We hurriedly patched up a pen of
pj ne slabs for the captives, making it
about seven feet square and leaving lots
0 f space betAveen the slabs on the top
and sides, so that avc could have a good
look at the squalling bunches of feathers.
The parent birds came back about noon,
and when they fouud their little ones
gone they kicked up a frightful row aud
flew about in search of them as if they
were distracted. When they finally dis
covered where the eaglets were they
circled around in the air over the pen,
keeping out of reach of our rifles, and
shrieked advice to their chicks about
keeping up their spunk' and making
themselves comfortable as plainly as hit¬
man beings could,
•Then the old birds flew away and
came back after a little with two big fish
in their talons. They circled and circled
around over the pen, aud finally let the
fish drop straight as a die right between
the slabs in the roof. They kept up this
performance every day for a fortnight,
and never iu all that time did they miss
hitting the pen with the fish they
dropped. Their parental affection and
intelligence so worked on us that Ave put
the eaglets back on the other side of the
river again, and I tell you it was really
affecting to see the way those two old
birds bung around and caressed their off
spring. They seemed to understand
alter that, that we were friendly to them,
and during the rest of the time we were
there they flew all about the camp, and
had no hesitation in coming down to pick
up the scraps of meat and fish avc would
throw to them. I can't say that they
shed tears over our departure, but I will
warrant that they felt the pangs of sep
aration as keenly as we did .”—New York
Times.
Too Much Food.
a physician says: “Most persons eai
four times as much as they should.” The
proportion seemed pretty large, bat an
eminent British physician of a former
generation said almost the same thing—
that one-fourth of what Ave eat goes to
sustain life, while three-fourths go to
imperil it. Another physician wittily
remarked that most people dig their
own graves with their teeth. The foun
dation of the habit of over-eating is apt
to be laid in childhood and youth, since
the stomach then seems able to bear
almost anything. There would be little
danger of eating too much, if the food
were always plain and simple; in that
case, the natural appetite would bea safe
and sufficient natural' guide. The trouble is
that the appetite is too often
spoiled by cakes, pies, condiments and
highly seasoned food. Another source
G f dyspepsia isemotional waste of nerv
OU s force. In the normal condition of
things, it is renewed as fast as it is used.
But nature makes no provision for the
immense amount expended by excessive
care, bA' fuss and worr\', by hurrA' and
drive, by explosions of passion, and by
the undue excitements of pleasure. All
these are like a great leakage of steam.
The stomach is the first and largest
sharer in the loss, Another source is
overwork of the brain. Brain-work i«
specially exhaustive of nerAe-force. and
t he exhaustion is greatly increased by
the fact that high intellectual activity
gathers to itself a most delightful mo
mentum. making a few hour- of high
pressure work more productive than days
of plodding. Moreover, a brain-worker
generally neglects physical exercise and
curtails deeps. He is iike the careless
engineer who. while driving at the high
est speed, fails to supply the needed
wood and water. He can not help being
a dyspeptic. Another cause, which
generally acts with ail the others, is a
Tack of active exhilarating out door
exercise and recreation Such exc-reise
and recreation are absolutely essential,
It is vastly easier to prevent dysreteia
than to cure it.
BUDGET OF FUN.
HUMOROUS SKETCHES FROM
VARIOUS SOURCES.
Pity 'Tis 'Tis True—Alter Sunday
School—No Sentiment About
Her—Just Like an Old
Book, Etc., Etc.
Tis really sad that folks who know how chil¬
dren should be taught
Are nearly always those to whom a babe is
While never those brought. who
think that children ought
to kick and make a noise
Are sure to have a lot of girls and half a dozen
boys.
—Chicago Herald.
AFTER SUNDAY-SCHOOL.
_ Person Whitndge—hat __ part of the .
exercises did you enjoy most, my dear?”
dropped Gertrude* that * cold thought when down Tommy baby’s
penny
back was the nicest. Didn’t he squeal
though ?”— Judge.
WHY SHE LOOKED.
“You should know, Fanny, that it
isn’t proper for a young lady when she
is out walking to turn round to look at
a gentleman.”
“Yes, mamma, dear; but you see I
was only looking to see whether he had
turned around to look at- me.”— Judge.
•JUST LIKE AN OLD BOOK.
Cumso (whose wife has sent him to
“match” some goods)—“Have you any
calico like this?”
Dry Goods Merchant—“I am sorry to
say that I am like a rare book.”
“How is that?”
“I’m out of print.”— Munsey's Weekly.
NO SENTIMENT ABOUT IIEK.
He (after being accepted)—“And what
kind of a ring am I to buy for vou, my
darling?”
She—“Well, I like the one I wore
last year ever so much. I will give you
Charlie’s address, Perhaps you will be
able to buy the ticket from him at a
bargain. ’ ’— Epoch.
AA’HEN HE GOT OFF IT.
They w r ere at an evening reception and
expected to leave town in the morning
early.
“I wonder what time the train leaves?”
remarked Jones.
“As soon as you get off of it,” inter¬
rupted a lady in front of them, giving an
angry tug at her skirts and quite upset¬
ting the awkward Jones.— Washington
Star.
NOT SO QUICK TO HEAR.
Little Girl—“Papa, did mamma say
‘ ‘yes” to you right off when you asked
her to marry you?”
Papa—“Certainly she did.”
Little Girl—“Why don’t she say “yes”
now just as quick when you ask her to
do things?”
Papa—“Mamma’s hearing is not so
good now, darling—that’s all .”—The
Ledger.
DIDN’T KNOAV TIER.
Benny—“Mr. Sloat, will you give your
daughter to me in marriage?”
Mr. Sloat—“Well, well! I see that
you don’t know my daughter as yet.”
Benny (astonished)—“Wli—what do
you mean, sir?”
Mr. Sloat—“If you had been thor¬
oughly acquainted with her you would
have said; ‘Will you give me to your
daughter in marriage?’ ”—Kearney En¬
terprise.
ALTERED CONDITIONS.
Mrs. Hunter (looking meditatively at
the empty fireplace)— “Hoav much you
used to en joy the open fire I used to make
for you at home on evenings Avhen you
came to see me before we were married!”
Mr. Hunter—“You’ve got bravely over
little attentions of that sort, now, I no¬
tice.”
Mrs. Hunter—“Yes; I soon found out
it didn’t seem so cheerful to you when
you had to pay for the Avood !”—Boston
Beacon .
HE HAD TRAVELED.
Enthusiastic Proprietor—“What do
you think of the new hotel ?”
Prospective Guest (diffidently) —
“Rather fine.”
E. P.—“Fine? Grand, I think! Did
you notice the fresco-work in the dining¬
room and the new furniture in the hall?”
P. G.—“Yes, I noticed them.”
E. P.—(persistently)—“Well, what
do you think?”
P. S.—(gloomily)—-“Oh, I suppose
I’ll haA'e to pay for them before I leave.”
—Lippincott.
REQUIESCAT IN PACE.
“Do you know, George, I wish you
would stay at home to-morrow.”
“Why, darling?”
“Oh, because this afternoon a terrible
looking tramp came here while you were
away, and ordered me to give him some¬
thing to eat, so I had to give him all that
sponge-cake I made last Saturday, and,
George, he says he’s coming back to¬
morrow.”
“Did he eat the cake, darling?”
“Yes, all of it, every bit.”
“Well, then, set your mind at rest,
dear; he will neveff come back .' 1 —The
Ledger.
WHY HE KICKED.
,, T , ra ^, . US . a goiu . , A to kick, . , „ grumbled ,, ,
Jimmy . Tallboy, ., ah. (rent down the cel
l.ornfterh.sth.rdhod of coal. ‘■Every
other feller is playing shinny, an’ I have
to work all the time. If I was dead you
would put some kind o’ machinery in me
to keep me working all the time. ’
ou • T ? S V ’ ' T SOD ’ ♦ to Sai ta l *k h,S so. ™ A ot ou b er do (
^av^t^cr'ea^deaf , \ 1 ^ * 801 SUfe U
' ~°
''
P -Buf
how 'ml croin' to be caDtain £th o'
the best shinn v team in town ™
arm ail out o’ 'shape b,ingin’ =1 up coal!”
Hartford Post.
_
TRUE appreciation
The tramp was very thankful as the
young Avife gave him the remains of the
day's dinner, and topped the pile with a
piece of her own home-made pie.
••Oh, lady.” he said in atone that in
dicated only too plainly his Boston cul
fare and extraction, “at this moment
suitable words fail me to express mv
will no. now eat this last gift «»*>?*• of your 1
charity, but I will keep it. and on some
future dav. wh4n I mav perhaps want to
--oaoit it "ill. I have „o doubt.
:ome in as a very handy and effective
means of accomplishing that end. Ma
iam. good day
A QUESTION OP RELATIVE VALUES.
“John! John! AYakeup!”
“AYhat is the matter, Maria?”
“I hear a noise in the kitchen. Go
down quick and see what it is. Maybe
it’s a burglar.”
“Mrs. Billus, what do you consider
the actual cash value of the silver and
plated war® and other stealable articles
in the kitchen?”
••There’s $10 worth at the very least.”
“And do you suppose, madam, I am
going to rim the risk of meeting an
armed burglar for a pitiful, beggarly,
dad-dinged $10, madam f”
(Angrily)—“Why not, John Billus?
Isn't your life insured for $5000?”— Chi¬
cago Tribune.
EASY AS SWIMMING.
_ Mr. r Kara , twho , , has , been accepted
purse
bv yvealthv, without inquiries as to
h - s financial standing)—“I wonder, my
cda. r linjg, if your parents will give their
'
( - on ; ea t?"
Miss Wealthy (thoughtfully)—“Ma has
always been very particular about the
moral character of young men I associate
with, and I'm afraid she’ll ask a good
many questions.”
M>. Slimpurse (joyfully)—“Oh, I can
get references from half a dozen minis¬
ters.”
Miss Wealthy (delighted)—“That's
splendid! Then after that all you’ll have
to do will be to get references from half
a dozen bankers, and you’ll catch pa.”^-
2Vew York Weekly.
SUE HAD BEEN TO CHURCH.
I have a friend who doesn’t go to
church himself, but sends his wife regu¬
larly. I dined with him last Sunday, and
he took advantage of the circumstances
to display her devotional tendencies be¬
fore company.
“What was the text, Sue?” he asked.
“Oh, something somewhere in genera¬
tions; I’ve forgotten the chapter and
verse. Mrs. Hughes sat right in front of
me wearing the worst looking bonnet I
ever saw on a woman’s head.”
“How did you like the new minister?”
“Oh, he’s simply superb! And Kate
Selwin was there in a sealskin that never
cost a cent less than $100.”
“Did he say anything about the new
mission fund?”
“No; and the Jones girls were rigged
out in their old silks made over. You
would have died laughing to have seen
them.”
“It seems to me you didn’t hear much
of the sermon.”
“The fact is, George, the new minis¬
ter has a lovely voice; it almost put me to
sleep.”
A long silence followed, during which
George absently helped me to pickles aud
mustard, while his wife sat. looking as
demure as a saint at a circus. Suddenly
she exclaimed:
“There! I knew I’d forgot to tell
you something! The fringe on Mrs.
Brown’s cape is an inch deeper than mine,
and twice as heavy !”—Lewiston {Me.)
Journal.
Size and Longevity.
Although there is some relation be¬
tween size and longevity, the duration of
the period of growth and length of life
being, speaking generally, longest in the
largest animals, there is no fixed relation
between the two. The largest organisms
live the longest, some trees reaching an
age of 6000 years, and some animals, as
whales, several centuries. And, after
maturity is reached, larger animals re¬
quire longer time than smaller animals to
secure the preservation of the species.
The explanation of this, as pointed out
by both Leuckart and Herbert Spencer,
is that “the absorbing surface of an ani¬
mal only increases as the square of its
length, while its size increases as the
cube; and it therefore folloAvs that the
longer an animal becomes the greater
will be the difficulty experienced in as¬
similating any nourishment over and
abov’c that which it requires for its own
needs, and therefore the more slowly will
it reproduce itself.” We, however, find
corresponding duration of life among
animals of every different size. For ex¬
ample, the toad and the cat live as long
as the horse, the crayfish as long as the
pig, and the pike and carp as long as
the elephant. In an interesting appen¬
dix, from which these and the following
facts are quoted, Dr. Weissmann cites
the ease of a sea anemone which lived
not less than sixty-six years. It was
placed by Sir John Dalzell in a small
glass jar in the Edinburgh Botanical
Gardens in 1828, being then, as com¬
panions with other individuals reared
from the egg period, fully seven years
old. It died a natural death in 1887.—
Longman's Magazine.
Babies Used for Ball.
If mothers in general shared the nerv<
exhibited by mothers in Ceylon, trouble
would be spared in many a household
“Babies wanted for crocodile bait. Wil
be returned alive.” If newspapers
abounded in Ceylon as much as croco
diles do, advertisements worded like the
foregoing Avould be common in their w’ant
columns.
As it is, the English crocodile-huntei
has to secure his baby by personal solici¬
tation. He is often successful, for Cey
Ion parents, as a rule, have unbounded
confidence in the hunters and will rent
their babies out to be used as crocodile
bait for a small consideration. Ceylon
crocodiles suffer greatly from ennui; they
prefer to lie quite still, soothed by the
sun's glittering rays, and while away their
lazy lives in meditation. But when a
-brown infant, Avith curling toes, ^ sits
011 , bank and bUnks at „ t ow
oB the ir cloak of laziness and make their
preparatioos * fbr a dclicate morM , of Cev .
humanitv
Whea the crocodi i e gets S about half .
way up the bank , ^ h Qter , concealed
behind some reeds, opens fire, and the
bun g r y croC odile has his appetite and life
taken away at the same time, the baby
bemg brou ^ t borne safely to its loving
“ The sportsman secures the skin ;
he * d ° f ‘ he g? 00 " 6 the «*
toe carcass the natives make use of.— j
Ceylon Messenger.
”
A Gas Organ.
The pyrophone, of English origin, is
a musical apparatus depending on gas jeff
burned in a corresponding number of
glass tubes. Each jet has its finger-ke\
pressure, on which causes the flame to
contract, when a musical sound is
out. tv. The .. tone vanes with the L arrange
ment of burners and size of tubes, mak- i
the i^g it musical possible scale ,0 give in all several the aotea octaves, j
Seme of the glass tubes are nearlv eleven
'
feet Ion-.
-—--
The number of native Christian belie'-
ers in -Japan at the end of 1889 was 71.
'
070
SIOUX sun-dance:
PECULIAR AND DANGEROUS CUS¬
TOM OF AN INDIAN TRIBE,
It is Dedicated to the Sun—A Bar¬
baric Scene—Charging at a
Pole—Accidents Which
Resulted.
Lieutenant- Schwatka contributes to
the Century a curious custom of tht
Sioux. From the article we quote the
following: “When all had assembled
and the medicine men had set the date
for the beginning of the great dunce
dedicated to the sun, the ‘sun-pole’ was
selected. A handsome young pine or
fir, forty or fifty feet high, with the
straightest and most uniformly tapering
trunk that could be fouud within a
reasonable distance, was chosen. The
selection is always made by some old
woman, generally the oldest one in tht
camp, if there is any way of determining,
who leads a number of maidens gaily
dressed in the beautiful beaded buckskin
gowns they wear on state occasions; the
part, of the maidens is to strip the tree of
its limbs as high as possible without
felling it.
“The selection of the tree is the only
ipecial feature of the first day’s celebration.
After it has been stripped of its branches
nearly to the top, the brushwood and
rees for a considerable distance about it
ire removed, and it is left standing for
the ceremony ot' the second day.
“Long before sunrise the eager partici¬
pants in the next great step were prepar¬
ing themselves for the ordeal; and a quar¬
ter of an hour before the sun rose above
the broken hills of Avhite clay a long liue
nf young warriors, in grogeous war paint
and feathers, Avith rifles, Iioavs and ar¬
rows, and Avar lances in hand, faced the
Bast aud the sun-pole, which was from
five to six hundred yards away. Ordi¬
narily this group of warriors numbers
from fifty to possibly two hundred men.
An interpreter near me estimated the line
I beheld as from a thousand to twelve
hundred strong. Not far away, on a high
hill overlooking the barbaric scene, was
an old warrior, a medicine man ol
the tribe, I think, whose solemn duty it
was to announce by a shout that could be
heard by every oue of the expectant throng
the exact moment AA’hen the tip of the
morning sun appeared above the eastern
hills. Perfect quiet resteel upon the liue
of young warriors, and upon the great
throng of savage spectators that blacked
the green hills overlooking the arena.
Suddenly the olei warrior, Avho hael been
kneeling on one knee, Avith his extended
palm shading his shaggy eyebrows, arose
to his full height, and in a slow, dignified
manner waved his blanketed arm above
his head. The few warriors who were
still unmounted iioav jumped hurriedly
upon their ponies; the broken, wavering
line rapidly took on a more regular ap¬
pearance; and then the old man, Avho
had gathered himself for the great effort,
hurled forth a yell that could be heard to
the uttermost limits of the great throng.
The morning sun had sent its commands
to its warriors on earth to charge.
“The shout from the hill was re
echoed by the thousand men in the val¬
ley; it was caught up by the spectators on
the hills as the long line of warriors
hurled themselves forward toward the
sun- pole, the objective point of every
savage in the yelling line. As they con¬
verged toward it the slower ponies
dropped out, and the Aveaker ones were
crushed to the rear. Nearer and nearer
they came, the long line becoming
massed until it vras but a surging crowd
of plunging horses and yelling, gesticulat¬
ing riders. When the leading Avarriors
had reached a point within a hundred
yards of tho sun-pole, a sharp report of
rifles sounded along the lino, and a mo
ment later the rushing mass was a sheet
of flame, and the rattle of rifle shots was
like the rapid beat of a drum resounding
among the hills. Every shot, every ar¬
row, and every lance was directed at the
pole, and bark and ciiips were flying
from its sides like shavings from to
rotary bit of a planer. When every bul¬
let had been discharged, and every arroAV
and lance had been hurled the riders
crowded around the pole and shouted as
only excited savages can shout.
fallen in this onslaught, an¬
other pole Avould have been chosen and
another morning devoted to this per¬
formance. Though this seldom happens,
it was thought that the numerous assail¬
ants of this pole might bring it to the
ground. They did not, however, al¬
though it looked like a ragged scare¬
crow, with chips and bark hanging from
its mutilated sides.
“That such a vast, tumultuous throng
could escape accident in all that wild
charging, firing of shots, hurling of
lances and arrows, and great excitement
would be bordering on a miracle, and no
miracle happened. One of the great
warriors Avas trampled upon in the charge
and died late that evening, and another
Indian was shot. The bruises, Sprains
and cuts that might have been spoken of
in lesser affairs were here unnoticed, and
nothing was heard of them.”
An Earthquake Starts a Well.
Since a recent earthquake at Santa
Ana, Cal., the well of Mr. Huntington
in Los Bolsas district, which for years has
never flowed to any considerable extent,
has given forth large <fuantities of mud,
stones and other materials, the eruptions
being volcanic iu character. The supply
of water is now far in excess of the
means provided at the surface for its
care, and it has been found necessary to
ditch from the well to the river to carry
it away. The pipes are at all times in
danger of bursting—the sudden blasts of
lir and foreign substancec rendering it
more or less dangerous to go near the
opening.
Expensive Flowers.
The most costly roses which NewA’ork
florists had for sale during the past win
«•« Sum Aleaiff and the Ulieh
Brunner. The first is of an exquisitely
delicate pink, and the second has the rich
flark beauty ° f the jat *» ueminot rose ’ but
ts Aery much larger, usually measuring
about five inches across the top. They
came from Carlton Hill, N. J., and one
oi them was practically a^ bouquet in it,
^elt. They retail at 82.50 each, so that
thegift of one ot them was no meaD
present.
- —
C Paradox
Because of her frigidity;
For she said “No" and stuck to it
'Tith womanly rigidity.
-Tia strange, said he, -that with this ehiil
I suddenly am smitten:
Tis paradoxical, but true— J
**
^
HOUSEHOLD MATTERS.
A CHEAP SOFA REG.
To make a sofa rug which costs noth,
ing but the work, collect all the soft
woolen rags of all colors, and as much
turkev-red aud waste twine as you can
find about the house; cut the rags a lit¬
tle finer than carpet rags; saw two yard¬
sticks apart lengthwise, to make four
yard-sticks; have ready a piece of old
bed-ticking one yard wide and two and
one-quarter yards long, with the stripes
running across to guide the work. Now
take three strips of different colored rags,
and wind each stick full; ns fast as one
rag is used up lap in another of different
color. When you have reached the end,
thread a button-needle with twine and
sew the rags in long stitches aloug the
edge of the stick, Place the stick, with
this sewed edge down, on the first stripe
at the edge of ticking, and sew the
ticking to the rags on the stick—the
two sewings being on the same
edge of the stick, Place the second
stick next the first, the third next the
second, the fourth next the third, etc.,
lowing the ticking firmly to the sewed
edge of each stick. Next, place tho
work on the table, and with a sharp
knife cut the rags aloug the unsewed
edge of the first three sticks, leaving
the fourth for a guide. Re-cover the
three sticks with rags, as before, and re¬
peat until the ticking is filled. This
will give you a beautiful soft rug, like
tufted work, with the colors beautifully
bleudcd.— Farm, Field and Stockman.
TEACUP TOWELS AND DISHCLOTHS.
It is difficult to announce the amount
of evil that may be visited on a family
through meaus of unclean dishcloths.
Typhoid fever and kindred diseases hav<
been traced directly to the unwashed
rags which play the part of dishcloths in
the kitchens of some intelligent women
who do not visit their kitchens. If ser¬
vants are provided with neatly hemmed
dishcloths and teacup towels marked
with the housekeeper's name they will
be more likely to treat the kitchen towel
with the respect it deserves than if un¬
hemmed rags are given them for this
purpose made of any old soft material.
It is very difficult, to get servants to treat
anything respectably that does not look
respectable. Every kitchen girl should
be given at least two dishcloths and a
sufficient number of kitchen towels and
glass towels, and be told distinctly that
they must be washed out every day, and
dried, when possible, outdoors. At th<
end of the week the first supply of towels
should be put. in the family wash and
washed aud ironed and sent to the linen
closet till the next week. By such a
method as this, keeping two sets of
kitchen towels in use in rotation, the
housekeeper can see at a glance whethei
they are $1.50 kept in order. It does not cost
over a year to keep the kitchen in
a small family supplied with hemmed
towels and dishcloths. The petty
amount saved by using cast-off ilanuels
and other old pieces for this purpose is
more than counter-balanced by time lost
in making up these pieces, which hardly
give a Aveek’s serviceable Avoar.
The very best material for a dishcloth i;
linen stair crash. Four good dishcloths
of linen crash will just cost six cents
each, and will last- a year, if they are not
used to scour knives and to Avash the
bottoms of iron pots. A large cork is
the best thing to scour knives
with, and a dishcloth should hang
in every kitchen to wash the bot¬
toms of kettles that may be sooty from
being used next to the fire. Some ser¬
vants will insist on plunging these towels
into the dishwater and in using fine glass
towels for wiping coarse dishes, but such
careless ways will usually be abandoned
if a little judicious oversight is kept of
the kitchen. ‘Where the housekeeper does
her own work it is as necessary to have
neat, strong towels in plentiful supply in
the kitchen as where a servant is kept:
Large toAvels of heavy crash for handling
articles above the stove are very con¬
venient, and can be more easily washed
than a holder. They are, moreover,
convenient than a holder in lifting
large baking-pans and many ot her dishes,
and pots and pans .—New York Tribune.
RECIPES.
Beef Loaf—To one pound of heel
(from the round), chopped fine, add one
egg, one-third of a cup of fine bread
crumbs, salt and pepper. Make into a
loaf, with a little flour on outside, and
roast with frequent basting. When
served garnish with parsley leaves.
Mint Sauce—To be eaten Avith roast
mutton or larnb. Take the youngest
leaves of the spearmint, cut away all the
stems, chop very fine, put a teaspoonful
of sugar to two or three of the mint, and
use sufficient, vinegar to be thoroughly
flavored by the mint. Make at least an
hour before it is to be used.
Pea Soup—Pick over one pint of split
peas, wash and soak over night. In the
morning turn off the water and put them
in the soup pot; add four quarts of cold
water, quarter pound of lean salt pork,
one small onion, celery, salt and a little
pepper. Boil gently four or five hours,
being careful that it does not burn.
Boiled Onions—Two dozen onions,
salt, pepper, butter and milk. Peel,
wash and boil in salted water until
tender; ten minutes before the water is
drained off, add one-half teacup of milk,
which will give the onions a clear, creamy
appearance. Drain; season with pepper,
salt, butter and one small cupful of cream
or milk.
Plain Rice Pudding—Scald two table¬
spoonfuls of rice to remove the earthy
taste. Add one quart of milk, a little
salt, half a teacupful of white sugar, one
teaspoonful vanilla, a small piece of
butter cut in bits and scattered on top.
Bake in a slow oven two hours. Half au
hour before it is done pour over it half a
teacupful of cold milk: this will make it
creamy. *
The Formation of Coal.
Experts on the subject of coal forma
tion declare that it takes an immense
amount of vegetable matter to form a
layer of coal, it being estimated that the
present growth of the world Avould make
a layer less than one-eight of an inch in
thickness, and that it would take a mil
lion years of vegetable growth to forma
coal bed ten fe£t in thickness.
.. .. * , .. , ba ,
lan . * &tates
l an ^ rea V l “® r(
S^’Xal^O b,, 000
1 f
mined in this country last , * year, enough u
to / rmg around the earth at the
2d Zi -Cv. tnic R . Competent
scientists . that there enough coal
say is in
** '"° rW