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XXII.
THE PRIMAL STRAIN.
Not when the sunlight goldens wide
The heaven, like an azure howl.
Hut when steals down the twilight tide,
The vagrant longing takes my soul.
Then doth desire, as doth the bark
That bounds the freshening wind before,
Bail out across the gathering dark
To many a dim and distant shore.
It is the old, unrestful strain,—
The spirit with the flesh at war,*-
That leaped along the throbbing vein
Of some nomadic ancestor
Hence,though when daylight holds the sky
I walk our formal ways within,
tv hen dusk draws on, at heart am I
As vagrant as a bedouin.
—Clinton Scollard, in Youth’s Companion
HIS FHIEHO’S DECEIT.
There was a dejected look on Paul
Gardner’s face as be seated himself
at his writing table, and, in spite of
himself, a sigh escaped him. He
bad come to the parting of the ways
in bis existence—was now confront¬
ing the fact that the career of honor,
ease and usefulness which, three or
four years ago lie bad mentally map¬
ped out for realization, was impossi¬
ble of attainment. Jlis hopes were
dead. Only one thing remained for
him to do now. But that was surely
the hardest of them all! That was
the primal cause of his dejection;
amt that was iho source of his sigh.
His lip quivered, and his fingers
trembled as he stretched forth his
hand and look up a pen. For a mo¬
ment he toyed nervously with it, as
if unable to trace tho necossary
words on tho paper before him. Then
he Wrote:
“ Dear Brenda —My heart fails
mens I begin this task, but honor
compels tho conviction that it is a
necessary one. By the time this
reaclies you, I shall bo many miles
upon my journey. It seems but yes-
terday since I settled hero and
opened my doors for the reception of
patients. I had some .f 10,000 then, :
and l believed that, by judicious j
management, it would suffice until
I had frugality, made a start. and I In believe, spite of skill, en- |
orgy,
my practice has yet to be begun. My
waiting has been in vain, und my
brass plato insufficient to attract the
practical attention of those requiring
medical aid. Now I have come to the
end of my resources, and I must
leave yott—you whom I love better
than life. 1 have made up my mind
to woo Fortune in a foreign clime. I
know you love me, and the recollec-
tionof the many happy hours we
have spent together win, in the fu-
ture as in the past, be a cheering in-
centive to mo in my work. But I
dare not ask you to await my re-
turn. 1 hope for success, but 1 had
hoped for it at the outset, and t lie
future may possibly be as unpro-
pitious, and the hopes as visionary
as those of the past. No; however !
powerful my inclinations, justice to
yourself compels mo to relinquish !
the claim I have hitherto had upon
you. Consider yourself, then, dear
Brenda, under no obligations to your
old love- Pray for me, and may God i
bless you. Ever vours in heart,
“Paul.”
It was written at last. He dare not
breathe a good-by ; dare not utter
one of those terms of endearment bo
had been so accustomed to use. His
heart, w'as quickly sinking within
liim. To pause for a moment would
be a fatal hesitation. Ho d ; d not
read the letter through, but placed
it quickly in an envelope and bur-
riedlv directing it and sealing it, de-
posited it on the mantelpiece, out, of
sight, as if he would fain forget its
existence. At that moment the door
opened, and Paul looked up as bis
friend, Mark Trevor, entered.
“Come in, Trevor, and don’t mind
the confusion,” he said. “I’m glad
to see you, tip.” as I was just going to
look you
“Bv Jove! Then you really intend
leaving us?” said Trevor, elevating
his eyebrows and attempting a smile,
“I thought when you mentioned it
last week, that it was the outcome of
impulse and disgust, But, my dear
fellow, why this haste? ! surely-” And Miss
Heathcote-Brenda You
“Trevor, don’t, At times! as I
think of her, mv resolution wavers,
and vet I know l am right in what I
am about to do.”
“But is she not aware of your de-
parture 1 ?”
“No; neither can I tell her verbal-
ly. Her tears would make me weak
and I want to spare her as well as
myself the pain of saving farewell. ’
“Farewell ! Nonsense. You’ll
get an appointment out there, on
landing, and in a few months at
most you’ll be back again for vour
bride,” and a cloud, evidently’ the
outcome of contemplating such a
possibility, obscured Trevor’s face.
A silence of some moments follow-
ed. Then Trevor resumed his gavetv:
his face lit up with hope and his eye
scintillated with more than ordinary
brilliancy •
“Well, well,” he said, “you know
your own affairs best I suppose and
after ail you’re only doing what an
lionorable man ought to. But if 1
ean help vou in any way don’t be
afraid of commanding me. I'm at
your service, Gardner, although I ,
don’t suppose you have any commis-
sions to give.”
“Yes. I have. Y’ou can do me a
great favor, old fellow. I—I—the
fact is, I’m just a bit short of funds lend j
and if you could see your way to
me, say, £50,1 should be uncommonly
grateful. One never knows what may
happen, you know, and all going j
well I will return it in the course of a
few months.”
“Certainly! I’m glad you mentioned
it, my boy. It would never do to
The Toccoa News.
cripple vourself at the outset bv
being short of the ready. I’ll lend
it you with pleasure. When do you
start?” he asked, eagerlv.
> I n tj ie morning, early.”
‘‘Fact is, I haven’t the money by
me, but I can get it in an hour,
D’Arcy owes me fifty, and promised
to let me have it this morning with-
out fail. I’ll just run round and get
him to draw the check in your favor
instead of mine, and—'
‘ Thanks, awfully. It’s very good
of yott Trevor”
"Tut, tut; don’t mention It. Get
your back things put in order, and I’ll bo
in an hour, ” and Trevor, snatch-
ing up his hat, departed.
True to his word, Mark Trevor
returned within an hour.
“Just caught him in, my boy,” he
said. ‘‘Hero you are, the check’s
drawn in your favor, to save my in-
dorsement.”
‘‘Thanks for all you have done for
me,” said Paul, taking up the check
and putting it into his pocketbook.
‘‘I shall never forget your goodness,”
gratefully ' clasping Trevor’s hand in
j lig
In a slurt time Paul was on his
way to the East India Dock. As he
was about to step on to the gangway,
two men who had watched his egress
from the vehicle approached and laid
hands on him.
“Paul Gardner, I suppose?” said
the foremost of them.
“That is my name.”
“it is our duty to arrest you on a
charge of forgery in connection with
a check which you cashed yesterday,
bearing the signature of Edmund
D’Arcy. and to warn you that any¬
thing you may say may be used as
evidence against you.”
The shock staggered Faul for an
instant.
“Arrest! Forgery!” he murmered,
at length. “There is some mistake,
1 do not understand. I certainly
cashed such a check, but it was not
forged, it was drawn by D’Arcy him-
sels. Good gracious I” he exclaimed,
“Can it be true? Can there be truth
in those rumors after all? Can he
love Brenda, and have concocted this
villainous plot to ruin me?” and as a
conviction of the truth flashed upon
him, it required a superhuman effort
to hold himself in check . On arriv-
at the station lie reiterated his
innocence—but, of course, to no
purpose,
“May I send a telegraphic mes-
sage?” lie inquired .
“The police will lend you any rea-
sonable assistance, if you wish to
communicate with your friends,”
was the reply.
‘‘I have just a dozen words, Wire
them to the person I name as
as it is daylight: ‘Beware of Trevor
—he is at the bottom of my ruin,
Am innocent. Paul to Miss
cote,” and Paul gave him her ad-
dress. “You have the words? You
will not forget them?”
“I can remember. They’ll do no
harm anyway, they won’t,” muttered
the man. “As soon as it’s daylight.
Depend upon me, sir.”
There could be no question as to
the outcome of the well-contrived
plot against him. Paul Gardner saw
Unless Trevor made a clean
breast of his duplicity, nothing but
iinpr.sonment awaited him. And it
turned out as he feared. Trevor
denied every word of Gardner’s
statement, even going to the length
of saying that they had never met on
tho day that Paul stated the check
was handed over to him. His in-
tended flight and his arrest just as
lie was about to leave the country
were construed into evidence against
him. He was committed for trial
by the magistrates, and eventually
sentenced to three years* imprison-
*
ment
For months Mark Trevor shrank
at the thought of going near Brenda
Heatlicote. In spite of his craft and
duplicity he could not summon the
necessary courage to confront her,
but eventually sought her out, and
endeavored to persuade her that her
impressions were false, thatPaulwas
deserving of his fate, and that he-
Trevor—was much injured by being
dragged into the horrible affair.
“Explain that telegram," said
Brenda, showing him the wire Paul
had contrived to send her.
plain that. I believe every word of
it, and I know the man who sent it
too well to think that, even in mis-
fortune, he would make such a charge
falsely against one whom he had
professed to honor.”
Trevor took the wire, and his face
turned ghastly white as he read the
words, “Beware of Trevor-he is at
the bottom of my ruin. Am
cent.”
“W hen did you receive this?” he :
inquired. ;
“On the night or rather early j
morning, of his arrest. I know the
reason you betrayed him, and evi _
dentiy Paul did. too. The reason he
wired me was to prevent all possibil-
ity of your plot succeeding so far as
your intentions with me were con-
cerned. Now go. and never seek my
face again. Only remember that
those who suffer innocently may
make even their suffering a stepping
stone to future success, while those
guilty of such offences as yours must j
eventually sink deeper in crime.”
It was a memorable morning when
the young doctor found himself once
more at liberty. The very thought
that he was free was almost sufficient
to overwhelm him: and, as he con-
fronted the traffic of the busy streets,
he could scarcely credit the fact that
he would not be summoned to con-
tinue the daily routine of prison life,
Beneath his desire of vindication
there lurked an inclination for re-
venge—and Paul knew it. Forgive!
No, he could scarcely do that How
he longed to see Brenda!
How would she counsel him to act?
Should he go to her? He scarcely
knew. He required time for thought,
TOCCOA, GA.. THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 1895.
After he procured suitable clothing
i h ’ repaired to one of the parks and
9a ^ down upon a seat. The thorough-
fare b e had chosen was well nigh ie-
serted, and Paul was soon lost in the
intricacies of thought, lie had just
determined that he would not visit
Brenda until he could take eonvinc-
' n ^ proof of his innocence, when his
privacy was intruded upon. Two
men ’ supporting the tottering form
of an elderly gentleman between
them, came up to the seat,
“You are ill, sir, said Paul, mak*
tng room, and assisting the old man
in a comfortame posture,
Y c-~yes— 1-—I m very ill, wai
the repty.
Can I be of service to you? lam
a ca raan ‘
Then as as you value , suffer- _
in § humanity follow to my resi*
dence, and the man broicenly whis-
pered his name and address.
“W hat is the name of the doctor
attending Mr . Easton? Paul asked
°/ *i ie attendant as soon as he ar-
r ‘ v ^ d -
Barrow, sir, . replied ... the ,, man.
“And between you and me, sir, I be¬
lieve there’s something wrong be¬
tween him and Mr. Mark. He’s a
broken down drink ridden beast, sir,
and Mr. Mark won’t hear of any one
else being called, and--”
‘‘Who is Mr. Mark?”
‘‘Mr. Easton’s adopted son. He
ain’t no relation, sir,” said the man,
subduing his voice to an almost in¬
articulate whisper, ‘‘but he’s the
master’s heir and--”
“Enough,” said Paul. “See, take
this prescription to the chemist, and
bring back the medicine at once.
Then run round and ask Dr. Boose
Feldter to come here instantly; it is
a matter of life and death.”
The man set off at once, and speed¬
ily returned with the requisite medi¬
cine, and then went as requested for
the specialist. When the eminent
scientist appeared, Paul, without
more ado, asked him to make an ex¬
amination of the invalid, and to state
what he considered was the nature of
corn P amt. Several minutes
e ' , a P 3e taking on spec-
-‘-
lades, Dr. Feldter said,
see by t ie lemec ms you are cm-
pl°y in " that we have bot i arrne a
^ cllloral same - conclusion. You are giving
“Yes.”
“Quite tigh”. This condition is
owing t' the cumulative properties
of strychnine.”
“So J conjectured. The patient
seems easier now; may I have a
word with you m . private, ,,
1,10 two were conducted to an ele-
cantly furnished dressing room, and
in a few moments Paul announced
his belief that Mr. Easton was being
f} fm ^ but deliberately poisonet. ,
!e 8 P ec, absb looted exceedingly
fE ave ‘ but counselled him to ta e up
11S ffuarters in the dressing room an
await developments. An hour after
J >r * ^ eld ter s d e P ar ture two ™ en en
* i ® red ^ ie bedroom. A cry o lorror
alniost escaped l aul, as le saw rom
his P lace that one of these
' va ^ ^ark •* r ®' or ’ ant ^ ^ 10 ,° 1< j r ’ 16
iac * n ,°. > e bro encown,
m or P hia dominated medical man
who , was doing lus bidding. he at
ter 0v a small vial from his pocket,
? n( , P oure d a little of its contents
in ,? a wine glass.
‘‘How T long before the end now?
whispered Irevor.
To-movow, sometime, I will fin-
. .
IS was the rep y.
Paul waited no *onger. W1 With a
. bound lie entered the and
room, con-
two startled men.
ocoundrels. lie cried, V nat
would you do. Poison him ! Than s
f a ^ e t iat lfe irsfcac ^,, not k a / to te destroy !: 'beration
13 sa )® an i .
“Paul Gardner!” exclaimed Trevor
parting backward, his face livid and
b’s limbs trembling as if palsied,
* es ' 1 3a ’ back to
charge you with , one crime, and to
^ ave - vou Horn completing a more
.V 1 !® 118 was one - who suggested , an ,
P»«J brute . me who to doit, sank tremblingly moaned the to abject the
a an ° U F afterward,
5ot b men were in . custody, and au
wa3 at bedside of the in
' a ^lid. For days he continued us un¬
attentions, and eventually
bad t be satisfaction of fully restor
,n£ \ 18 P atiea - V, or was g ratl Mde
panting on Mr. Easton s part On
1,8 rec O' ei % rau l un burdened hi?
own " ame 8a< stood ! story m h and, “ P a atient week ■ Uter " ll his in
U ? e P lac , ® recently occupied by that , *
of Mark Trevor Nor was this all A
sudden fame attached itself to him,
and ‘ Wlt h 1)r ‘ P° os e Feldter as his
patron, . his . professional .
career was
fi uic kly established. Trexor and us
accomplice were sentenced to a long
^ erm ° t ie imprisonment, * ormer at on ^e t n made conwc- a
written statement, , completely exon-
'”i toeetlSr twVdaS
late ri> a if andBrenda innience were dXn
i root oi mv my innocence, claran^,,
sa V? h ?’ P roducin S the document,
T need lf s ^ e re Pbed.
'
, iy 1 , * new ll
*
Age of Fish.
Fish live to a wonderful age. Pro-
fessor Baird tells ns of a pike in Ru3-
sia whose age dates back to the fif-
teenth century. In the royal aquar-
' um * n St. Petersburg there are fish
that have been there for 140 years,
Fhey live on without seeming to ar-
r 've at maturity. There are also
some very queer crabs in the world,
I he soldier crab of Bermuda carries
heavy shells up the hills. A shore
crab in the Cape \ erde Islands may
be seen running along like a piece
P a Pe* blown by a strong wind,
In Ascension Island there are crabs
that steal young rabbits from their
nests, while the famous robber crab
of the Philippines cracks cocoanuts
aud eats them-
WOMAN’S WORLD.
PLEASANT LITERATURE FDR
FEMININE READERS.
THE “NEW WOMAN” IN THE MOUNTAINS.
A new woman is at work in the
mountains ot Tulare County, says the
Tulare (Cal.) Register. She is run¬
ning an engine for a shake mill above
Mountain Home. She is the practical
manager of the outfit, and when the
machine goes wrong she directs the
repairing. She has her husband and
two small boys at work and keeps
things moving.
SHE DEALS IN DERRICKS.
Derricks are prosaic, but profitable,
as Mrs. Henry D. Cram, of BostoD,
has demonstrated. For several years
Mrs. Cram has devoted herself to this
business, which presumably offers few
attractions to the feminine mind, and
has amassed wealth therefrom. Now
she has made arrangements to furnish
the derricks aud paraphernalia to be
used in the erection of all the build¬
ing, which will be of stone, at the
Paris Exposition.
There will be seventy-five derricks
in use, and Mrs. Cram will go over
and personally superintend the plac¬
ing of them. It may be a satisfaction
to woman to know that Mrs. Cram
will prove a fitting representative of
American business women. She is
good looking, cultivated and refined
and wears becoming costumes. What
more could mortals ask?—New York
Press.
BRAIDS.
The utility of braids as a trimming
is fully demonstrated on the import¬
ed aud domestic garments of this sea¬
son’s manufacture. Jackets with braid
trimming in military designs are not
only exceedingly tasty, but are sure
to be sellers. Fancy capes, with rows
of heavy woven braid the entire
length, is one of the latest styles
shown. Other uses of braid point to
a universal demand for tho same to
take tho place of the bias velveteen.
Tbeie is no denying the advantage of
the former, as the wearing qualities
are three times greater, The best
style for such use is narrow braid with
a cord edge.
The cord edge will give a service
which will outlast the bias velveteen
many times, besides it is a much more
handsome article. Some of the best
buyers hail this change with delight,
for they have got heartily sick of the
other article, and the constant com¬
plaints which customers make.—The
Buyers’ Guide.
uses of old xvaterfroofs.
Every household probably possesses
two or three discarded rubber water¬
proofs of the black shiny variety that
was so very much in vogue about ten
years ago, says Harper’s Bazar. Al¬
though now entirely superseded by a
more desirable garment, they may still
be utilized in many practical ways.
One of the most satisfactory transfor¬
mations is the soap-bubble suit. If
mothers of restless children could but
know what a peacemaking influence
such uniforms exert within doors on
rainy days they wonld feel almost
tempted to buy the new garment just
to transform it into soap-bubble ar¬
mor. This is made most easily into
overall aprons with large sleeves that
will slip over the ordinary outside
dress. The apron is then fastened by
long strings which tie at neck and
waist, and which make it easily adap¬
table to children of different sizes.
For very little children xvho are likely
to upset the soap-suds every few min¬
utes a simply made suit, consisting of
a loose blouse and a full trousers fast¬
ened with a drawing-string around the
waist, is proof against cold or damp¬
ness. A simple pattern is that of the
creeping apron worn by very young
children. Thus protected, I have
known a family of children to splash
and dabble to their hearts’ content an
entire afternoon. If the pieces of
waterproof which are left over are
sewed together and made into a lining
for an old blanket, rug or shawl, it
wiil be found to make a most useful
outdoor mat for a young baby. If
placed out on the lawn, the child may
roll around on the rug, enjoying the
sunshine and fresh air thoroughly pro¬
tected from the damp ground. Smal¬
ler strips of the black waterproof are
very useful for tacking on screen or
spring doors, which are apt to shut
with a disagreeable noise.
makes a living from aprons.
A clever young woman, barely
twenty, who has within the last two
or three years established a steady
patronage of her wares among the so¬
ciety women of the city, confessed to
one of her patrons a day or two since
that her income last year was over
$3000. The commodity is aprons.
Over 3000 of these were made and sold
last year. The young lady has been
engaged in apron manufacture sinoe
the age of thirteen. Left au orphan,
she undertook this work as a means of
support. Her neatness and deftness
soon made the work a paying venture,
and now, by her efforts she is educat¬
ing two young brothers, as well as
providing for herself.
The woman formerly canvassed with
her aprons from house to house; now
she needs but to take orders, as her
liability has been proven and her work
is known to be satisfactory. She manu¬
factures her aprons through the win¬
ter aud spring, and usually devotes
about six weeks in the summer to the
taking of orders and the delivery of
the goods. As aprons are a necessity
of the wardrobe and in constant wear
and tear, a market which brings the
same to the door has come to be
greatly appreciated both by mistress
and maid, and the clever canvasser is
now sure of a welcome wherever she
goes.
She has her regular Tound of pat¬
rons.
The apron maker dots her material
in New York by the web. She makes
her own selections—dimity and lawn
for the fine aprons, muslin for tho
maids and nurses and heavy liuens
and ginghams for the kitchens.
No fancy aprons nre manufactured,
none with bibs and for children. The
largest business is done in the nurse
maid apron, these of double breadths,
full almost to dress skirt pattern aud
with great sushlike ties* The lawn
apfona ore handsome* with their deep
hems aad pretty ties,
deep Variety is assured by an occasional
ruffle or one or two pockets, The
sewing aprons hare deep pockets, and
in a few of the dainty lawn aprons for
the mistress a jaunty pocket has place.
The young seamstress is still able to
control the manulacture of her aprons
herself. To accomplish the amount of
work last year, however, the greatest
system and application was necessary.
Days were spent in runniug up noth¬
ing but the ties or strings. Yard after
yard of this ribbon like work was
neatly fashioned, hemmed on both
sides, then divided off in proper
lengths. Other days would be devoted
to nothing but the hemming of the
bottoms of the aprons, aud on other
days the gathering would claim atten¬
tion. All work is done on the ma¬
chine.
The young apron maker has an eye
to color also, aud in the selection of
her ginghams and muslins makes
choice of the sweetest designs in check i
or stripes, pink, blue, brown, or what¬
ever tint may be the choice at the
time.
The aprons for the nurses, for the
serving maids, or for the mistress,
however, are always of the regulation
white, the material only varied with
the style. The little apron vender con¬
fesses to the fact that in an apron
which sells for fifty cents, owing to
the reduced rate in her purchase of
material by wholesale, the actual out¬
lay is but a trifle over sixteen cents. —
Pittsburg Dispatch.
FASHION NOTES.
New handkerchiefs have the edges
embroidered in deep points.
Braided white mohair blouses are
worn with black or dark skirts.
Faille and all varieties of corded silk
will be in great demand next season.
Neglige jackets are made of Dresden
taffeta, with elaborate trimmings of
embroidered lace.
Parasols of Dresden silk are made
perfectly plain, and have wood sticks,
some of them painted white.
Bodices are really collections of
trimming, and one rarely has a bodice
that matches the skirt in color or tex¬
ture.
New and effective Dresden buttons
have a single brilliant hoop-rim of
Frenck jet, Irish diamonds, or finest
cut steel.
New and effective Dresden buttons
have a single brilliant hoop-rim of
French jet, Irish diamonds of finest
cut steel.
White, pink, ecru and blue piques
are worn, and many of these are
printed with a tiny flower, stripe or
dot of some contrasting color.
A linen gown that was very attractive
—in fact, very striking—was of black
linen with a white muslin collar dotted
and edged with black embroidery.
Solid ecru, pink or blue linen shirt
waists have wide box plaits front and
back, piped with white linen, with im¬
mense white linen sailor collar and
cuffs.
The much-used and much-abused
shirt waist holds its place as promi¬
nently as ever and 13 of the greatest
service to all sorts and conditions of
women. >
Printed muslins and crepons in so r t,
undulating plaits are just as pretty
and quite as cool as the shot taffetas
which give a different effect iu every
changing light.
Lace handkerchiefs are very fashion¬
able, and whether made of insertion
and edging, with a tiny square of linen
lawn, or with lace and embroidery,
are equally popular.
Solid ecru, pink, or blue linen shirt
waists have wide box pleats front and
back, piped with white liuen sailor col¬
lar and cuffs, bordered with tiny wash¬
able gimp the color of the shirt waist.
Mohair skirts are just now made up
without lining, which is another thing
in their favor. They are finished with
a bias facing half a yard deep with an
outer lining for the facing of grass
cloth.
A small girl’s dress is of Scotch
plaid, has a plain skirt, a fitted waist,
very large sleeves, and a velvet collar.
A shoulder trimming iu deep scallops
is made of silk and all over em¬
broidery.
The array' of collarettes, vests and
ribbons, the frilled laces with rosettes
at either side, the fichus with scarf
ends crossing in front, all help to en¬
able one gown to masquerade as a
multitude.
Tiny toques and dress bonnets of
dark green, violet, claret and black
velvet will be trimmed with shaded
velvet flowers of a seasonable kind,
like nasturtiums, wall flowers, ger¬
aniums, etc.
Ladies with time and taste for such
things are making crochet silk or
worsted petticoats. These are very
pretty, aud when made up with crochet
insertion and edging, are useful and
handsome garments.
Capes will continue to rival coats in
fashionable favor just as long as full
sleeves remain in vogue. The eape3 for
late autumn will be made of Persian
I trimmed jetted plash, satin trimmed
kersey, fur trimmed plain velvet or
plush, braided Persian cloth, wide-
! wale bouole cloth and fine ladies’ cloth
| in black and colors. Jackets will be
strapped, box-pleated and braided.
TRUMPET CALLS.
Ham's Horn Bounds a Warning
to the Unredeemed.
HE light we <56
not walk In wCi
soon leave us.
Whoever gets
/ life in Chrte-
t I helps to give it
% There are D®
J : tollgfttes on the
highway of holi¬
ness
Whoever know#
God la a magnet
for him.
God is always
close to those who need help.
The man who chases bubbles never
has any time to rest.
Half-heartedness makes no prayers
that God can answer.
The most respectable sinners are the
most dangerous ones.
A cry is what the heart says when
the lips cannot speak.
The devil’s hand drops when a good
man gets on his knees. !*
lie is the greatest man who docs
most for his fellowmen.
The man who is ruled by his feel¬
ings cannot walk straight.
Morality is only the polish on the
candlestick. It Is not the light.
God always makes the road in which
be wants his pilgrims to travel.
To be religious should mean to be
like Christ and to do as he did.
The more an enemy hates us the
more our kindness will hurt him.
How it must puzzle the angels to see
a preacher looking for an easy place.
Count that day lost on which you
have not let your light shine for Christ.
Keep in touch with Christ, and he
will help you to touch others for their
good.
The devil has to fight hard to hold
his own anywhere near a praying
mother.
We may not all be able to do great
things, but we can all be faithful in
little ones.
The millennium would be here now
if we all lived lip to what we demand
from others.
God is disappointed If we are not
doing anything for him except make a
noise in church.
One of the greatest enemies the sa¬
loon has is the mother who teaches
her boy to pray.
When a man gets religion right the
first to find it out will be those who live
the nearest to him.
The fact that the devil is against a
man ought to be good evidence that he
is on the Lord’s side.
Whatever the Christian does will be
religious work, if he does it as Christ
would have him do it.
Skeptics may try to tear the Bible to
pieces, but every consistent Christian
life proves that it is true.
The man who isn’t religious enough
to do right when he isn’t watched isn’t
religious when he is watched.
The world is In the dark about God,
and the first business of every Chris-
taln should be to help set It right.
It is because the devil can make him¬
self look like an angel of light that the
battle against him lias lasted so long.
Making Newspapers in Syria.
A learned Syrian traveler, at present
enjoying a sojourn in Buffalo, says that
the Syrian papers probably contained
not the most distant allusion to the
massacres in Armenia. After observ¬
ing the ways of American newspapers
he declared that the Yankee editor was
in Faradise and did not knoxv it.
In Beyrout, said he, there Is a cen¬
sor, an officer of the Turkish Govern¬
ment, and to him must be submitted
the first copy of every newspaper, and
until he approves it not another one
may be taken out of the press room.
As there are some thirteen daily pa¬
pers In Beyrout, it is easy to imagine
what an inconvenience this is. It will
not do to give the censor proof slips.
He must see the entire sheet as it is
intended for circulation. While the
press waits the censor he runs his eye
over the journal. If there is a line of
news which the Government would
prefer not to have published, if there
is a leader reflecting in the slightest
degree upon the conduct of affairs in
Constantinople, the censor draws his
pencil through it, and the matter must
be taken out.
In anticipation of such an occur¬
rence Syrian editors always keep in re¬
serve columns of matter in type. This
is all most iaudatory of the Sultan,
of the Grand Vizier, of all Turkish
officialdom. It is carefully made up in
portions of varying length; stickfuls,
two stickfuls, half columns and squibs.
If the censor orders part of the first
forms out, these tales of fulsome flat¬
tery are immediately substituted, a
fresh impression is taken, the censor
approves, and the presses are started
up.
To Kill Hogs.
The National Stockman urges that
to kill bogs: Take a rifle, and if muz¬
zle-loader, put in about one-fourth of
common load; if breech-loader, use 22
calibre long shell. I use 32 calibre re¬
volver short shell, as my hogs are al
ways tame and I can go right up to
them. Draw a line with your eye from
butt of ear to eye on opposite side,
shoot where lines cross and you will
never make a failure. I have shot hogs
ever since I was big enough to handle
a gun, and have yet to see the first hog
that was not bled perfectly, After
shooting, turn him square on his back,
then stick, and your hog, will never
know what hit him, and will bleed per¬
fectly if stuck right. If anyone were
within four rods of my pens on killing
day he could not tell we were killing.
,
NO. 48.
CHILDREN’S COLUMN.
I AM THE FAMO.Y CAT.
I can eloso up my claws
In my soft velvet paws,
And purr in the sun
Till the short day is done—
For I am the family eat*
1 can doze by the hour
In the viuc-oovered bower,
Winking and blinking
Through sunshine and shower,
For 1 am the family eat.
From ths gooseberry bush,
Or whsre bright currents biushi
t may suddenly spring
For a bird on the wing.
Or dart up a tree,
If a brown nest I see,
And select a eholoe morsel
For dinner or tea,
And no one to blame me,
Berate or shame me—
Fori am the family cat
In the cold winter night
When the ground is a!l white,
And the Icicles shine
In a long silver line,
1 stay,not to shiver
In the moonbeam's gray quiver,
But curl up iu the house
As snug as a mouse,
And play Jack Horner
In the cosiest corner,
Breaking nobody’s laws,
With my chin on my paws,
Asleep with one eyes and awake with the
other,
For pats from the children, kind words from
the mother—
For I am the family oat.
—Our Dumb AnlmaL
A snail’s mouth.
Snails are such unpleasant creatures
to handle that the amateur naturalist
usually passes them by iu disgusted
silence, but they are interesting as
well as harmless and will repay close
observation.
In one particular alone tho snail is
wonderful animal, and that is his
mouth. It is fortunate for mankind
that no large will animal is similarly
constructed.
The mouth of the snail is armed
with a very formidable instrument in
the shape of a remarkable saw-like
tongue. Probably you have, at some
time or ather, noticed how cleanly
cut are tho edges of a leaf upon which
a suail has been regaling himself. It
is difficult to imagine how such a
soft and flabby-looking animal can
have made such clean incisions. But
with au examination of the cutting in¬
strument concealed in his mouth,
wonder on this score vanishes.
It resembles a long, narrow ribbon,
coiled in such a manner that only a
small portion of it is called into use.
Thickly distributed over the entire
surface of this ribbon are an im¬
mense number of excessively sharp
little teeth, designed iu a manner
which admirably adapts them to the
purpose for which they were in¬
tended.
The quantity of these teeth is in¬
credible—one species, for instance,
has been indisputably proved to pos¬
sess as many ns thirty thousand of
them. The reason for their disposi¬
tion on a coiled, ribbon-like surfaoe lies
in the fact that by use they become
worn away.
As this happens the ribbon is nn-
coiledaud tho teeth which before were
wrapped up iu it at the back of the
snail’s mouth, come forward to take
the place of those which have served
their turn. Tiie upper pirt of the
mouth consists of a horny surface
against which the sharp-toothed
tongue works.
A leaf which is to be operated upon
is caught between the two and sub¬
jected to a regular file-like rasping on
the part of the tongue, Bo effective
an instrument does this form that the
tough leaves of the lily may often be
found to be entirely rasped off by it.
--Detroit Free Press.
Gotta I’erclia from Leaves.
There is now a prospect that the
supply of gutta percka will become
permanent. The old native method
of cutting dowu a tree, to get the
gum, and thus killing the goose that
laid the golden eggs, is given place to
that of plucking the leaves and ex¬
tracting the gum from them. This
plan has been put in practice by Mr.
Ilurant, at Sarawak, with success.
The gum from the leaves is not only
purer, but there is more of it. An
adult tree of twenty-five to thirty
years’ growth only yields one catty of
gum when the tree is sacrificed,
whereas two pluckings of the leaf
yield as much without injuring the
tree. Moreover, the saplings from the
roots of trees already cut down are
useful in yielding leaves. —New York
Telegram.
The Youngest Grandmother.
A claiment for the honor of being
the youngest grandmother in America
is Mrs. John W. Pierce, of Boston,
whose age is twenty-eight. She was
married at the age of fourteen years
and her daugnter became a wife when
only twelve years old,