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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,