Newspaper Page Text
tiugem. :
he would
kas tauiy successful, but
let the fruit of the cactus
tier's chubby hands until
stripped of its dangers by his
aife.
“ ’F on’y had sum matches to build a
fire wiv,” sighed Dubs, ‘Td burn off
▼ese prickles jus’ like ve Injuns does."
“O-Ctl" came suddenly from under
Gay’s sunbonnet. “Wot’s dat?”
“W’y, it’s a jug,” and Dubs left the
.. . h.nnii FJI. I1 CtmlMMed with the
) Atke«. ■>«»«,«... usg,
ATHENS, GA., TUESDAY MORNING. DECEMBER 22,1891.
CONVERSION.
I wan lered down the riverside
Where little birds were sinking
Tlu'ir vesper hymn, when o’er the wa-
Ouno your voice sweetly ringing.
j!\ heart was hard with stubborn pride,
i had uot touched my dinner,
I knew myself ft wicked wretch,
lint pit ied still the sinner,
you sr.ng a little, simple song
Of love divine and human.
Ami i 1 dropped there In the dusk,
" And soldwd like any woman.
Dt or little friend, you did not know
On Tuesday after dfuner,
y„ur toui,' bUok by the riverside.
Converted ono baso siunerl
—Annabel Dwight la Yankee Blade.
VOICE OF THE PINE TREE.
Tkeo'rt haunted: it Is not thyself
* hivathiug such plaint of woe;
It must be some unhappy elf
Whose heart broke long ago.
It Fays to Dress Well.
- — — , Paradoxical as it may sound,,it is
loonies ana started toward the pile of I nevertheless true that few men can af-
rottics where lay the Coyote’s demijohn, I ford to dress badly; that is, at least, if
and where & k° Coyote himself. they want to create a good impression,
y 1 ® t ' vo trudged up the little Blope, for whether it be right or wrong, the
and pbbs grasped the 'handle of the I world an obstinate habit of judging
demijohn, only to let it drop again and by appearances. In fact, there is a corn-
spring back quickly with Gay in his I merdilvaiue attaching to good cities
aims, for he had caught sight of the | besides that which engages the attention
Sow it revisit* theo alway,
* And stirs thy harp of sorrow;
Wc hour its tiny fingers play
And shudder for the morrow.
It seems to prosage grief unborn.
That trembling sigh of saduoaa;
We fear to hail the rosy morn
Lest wo should miss its gladness.
It is ns if from earliest time
Nn joy thou hadst felt,
Bui caught the echoes of a clime
Where only trouble dwelt.
A mystery hovers overhead
And shrouds theo all thy days;
We glance aiound for presence dread
Whoa that strange music plays.
Coyote, and he was smitten with a sud
den desire to go home.
But he saw the Indian did not move,
and so he suddenly became very brave.
He was certainly sound asleep and no
more to be feared than papa when he lay
on the lounge in his midday repose.
Then, too, Dabs was quite sure he was
“worky Injun,” like the Yaquis, who
shoveled and picked on the railroad, and
so his mind became wholly at ease.
The Coyote’s cartridge belt, which
had been so loosely strapped, had fallen
off and lay by his side. There were a
hundred very interesting bits of brass
it cannot bo thy dirge of woe.
Thy (.eeret grief unfurled;
There is so deep an overflow
It. Middens all the world.
It moves ns on the windy height.
It Haunts us in the starshine;
It follows through the noonday light—
The sighing of the pine.
—Mrs. N. U. Morango In Arkansaw Traveler.
FOR REMEMBRANCE.
It would lie sweet to think when we are old
Of all the pleasant days that came to pass;
That here wo took tho berries from the grass.
There cliurmed the bees with pans, and smoko
And spread the melon nets when nights were
Or i ilied the bloodroot in tho underbrush.
And marked theringingof the tawny thrush.
While nil l he west was broken, burning gold.
• ■id eo 1 hind with rhymes these memories,
A> girls press pansies in the poet’s leaves
And lind them afterward with sweet sur-
Or treasure petals mingled with perfume.
Losing them in tiie days when April grieves;
A subtle summer in the rainy room.
-Duncan Campbell Scott in Scribner's.
COYOTE-THAT-BITES.
Not every Apache can get his fill of
blood before snn up and hisfill of mescal
I* f< ire n oon. Yet Coyote-Thut-Bi tea had
managed to achieve both those delight
ful ends, and of all the happy savages on
the Colorado desert he was the most
riotously, tumultuously happy. With
wiut keen delight he had drawn liis
sharp blade across the throats of Jose
Sanchez and his wife, after he had stolen
into their wagon in the gray dawn, and
what thrills of joy shot through his
’orea.-t when he silenced the yells of their
two little children with the butt end of
their father’s own rifle. And then, when
he had taken what gold was in the Mexi
can’s hag, what mescal was in his derni
of Snip, the tailor.
Every man who has the means to do
so should dress well, not for the gratifi
cation of vanity, hot because it pays.
Yon will rarely find a sharp business
man shabby in his appearance if he can
possibly avoid it. Cue must ba taken,
however, not to go to tho other extreme,
for the world hates a dandy; it pities a
shabby man. Indeed, one cannot do
better than follow the well known ad
vice of Poloniua to his ema Laertes on
this subject:
ly thy habit as thy parse can
bny, bat not expressed in fancy; rich,
THE FRENCH SENTRY.
A Tale of Grit Unto Death.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF GEORGES DE LTS.
sticking in it, and thechildre&sooo bad gj *“““
these scattered all about in the sand by
the snoring Coyote. In the scramble for
her share of the innocent toys, Gay let I lf she ° nl r Know '
one of them drop on the Coyote’s leg. T^ 8 wife of » cabinet minister went
Perhaps the mescal’s influence was on I ont of town for a da y or tw °. tbe W88k
The enemy Had retreated at last, leav
ing the French masters of the position.
The sergeant had gone sway, after plac
ing a conscript, Claude Latapie, as sen
try, on an eminence, under shelter of a
cottage, which had been half demol
ished by the grapeshot.
Night was coming on, and in the deep
ening gloom the young soldier looked
half fearfully at the wintry landscape.
Each object was a huge, weird silhou
ette, .which his simple peasant, fancy
transformed into a fantastio specter,
and he tremblingly recalled the ghostly
legends heard in his childhood, the wom
en crossing themselves, the men shud
dering and all drawing nearer the glow
ing hearth, while the wind howled
mournfully. Above hint the sky grew
more and more opaque, sot a star piero-
ing its blackness, and the bleak north
wind prolonged the tremulous sighs of
the branches, as they softly rustled
against each other.
The sentry clasped his musket firmly
and stood motionless, paralyzed with
vague terror and almost numb with cold.
His thoughts were so busy with the
memory of his home and of days which
massacred. How could he prevent it?
What could he do to save them?
He marched along quietly, rejoiced
for a minute at perceiving that his cap-
tors were taking the wrong direction,
but the cqptain soon discovered his error
and changed the route. This time they
were on the right road; the little band
of Frenchmen would be easily captured
—all was lost!
Suddenly the prisoner stumbled and
fell, and as his guardians stooped to
drag him up again his fingers clutched
the trigger guard of Muller’s musket.
The man snatched at the weapon , bat
Clande hung on, and in spite of his
hands being bound succeeded in his de
sign. Then he felt for the trigger. Her
mann pierced him with a bayonet, and
Clande, mortally wounded, felt his hold
relax; convulsively he made another ef
fort and the gun went off. A loud re
port echoed through the darkness, and
with all his remaining strength he
shouted:
“To arms!”
"Then, pierced through the body, he
reeled and stiffened, biting the snow.
Bnt the report and the cry were heard.
The French, aroused, attacked the
the wane, for a big brown knee was ^fore 8118 was to bold a big official re- seemed, after all his battling and hard- enemy; their main guard came up, and
jolm, and had strapped Jose’s rather
loose fitting cartridge belt about his sun
brown belly, with what fierce pleasure
lie stole away from the scene of his
bloody work, and with the Mexican’s
riile on his shoulder had wandered far
Uown the dry arroyo, sipping from the
demijohn the stupefying juice of the
agave from time to time until he felt
that he was growing drowsy.
Then he had dragged his uncertain
way along until ho had come to the rail
road track. He stared stupidly at the
bright steel rails and looked up at the
humming wires in an awed sort of way.
lie would like to lie there behind the
rocks, lie thought, until some one should
come along the track,'and then try a shot
at him with liis newly acquired weapon.
The demijohn was growing light and
the rifl was growing heavy. Well, it
was getting toward noon and rather
warm, even for an Apache, and he would
lie ’own in the shade of the rockB over
there and rest.
Tiie humming of the wires is a sooth
isg sound, and no sooner had his head
udied the earth than sleep took
iglity hold upon him and wiped out
ais realizing sense of joy, as sleep has
way of doing with everybody that has
anything to be joyful for. And so he
lay, with the rifle by his side, and his
unspeakably hideous face turned up to
ward the blue that arched the desert.
It was quiet there and restful—no
•ound save the mnsio of the wires.
Stay, there were other sounds; bnt they
came some time after Coyote-That-Bites
had thrown himself upon the sand and
gone off to the land of Nod. They came
faintly at first, and mingled with the
tnurmurings of the wires. Surely they
Were the voices of children.
Rad the red beast been awake he
•night have imagined that they were the
haunting voices of the .wee Mexican
children whose blood he had so ruthless
ly i-hed that morning, but he heard them
They were very far from being
ghostly voices anyway—those tones that
uow piped forth so merrily as Dubs and
y ay trudged down the line. They were
walking to the scoopont along the road
|*d—uot on the track, for that was for-
hidden.
There were other things that were for-
hi-lden, too, and one of them was stray-
so far away from the station, but
Dubs was “taking good care” of his
tbree-year-old sister, and in the pride of
his six full years he was equal to the
of half a dozen such as. Gay.
To giv C Dubs all due credit, he did not
know he was half a mile from home, and
ho really was going to turn back pretty
? 00n - .But the children had found many
interesting and beautiful things to claim
•heir attention. First there had been a
chase after a young owl that could not
fl y. and that made its way along in the
Jhoat haphazard manner imaginable.
Then a horned toad had been captured,
Dube had dragged the disgusted
along by a string until be had
jiied of the sport and bad let him go
Jpun. Then, always
railroad, they had
arid of
herd to
the
throat quickly up from the sand, and
big brown band clutched the ngly knife
at the Coyote’s side, but the hand fell
and the noble red man snored on.
Dubs tried on the cartridge belt and
became an Indian, all but the indispens
able knife, and he concluded to borrow
that from the sleeper, whose fingers had
lost their grip on the buckhom handle,
It’s bigger’n moramie’s butcher knife,
ain’t it, Gay?” the young savage asked,
as he grasped the handle of the devilish
looking blade. “Now you ’tand over
vere and I'll get ’hind vis wock. Ven
yon turn along, an I’ll jump out and kill
you.”
Gay demurred.
“Oh, it’s on’y make bTeve. Vese kind
o’ Injuns don’t kill nobody,” and be
stuck a contemptuous finger toward the
innocent Coyote. “It’s on’y ’Pachea ’at
kills, an’ vey’s none youud here, mom-
mie saya I’m a ’Pache, so yon better
look out."
It was dubious sport for Gay, and
when it came to the killing part she
screamed lustily.
You’ve woked him up an ’poiled it
all,” said Dubs in a tone of accusation.
Now he’ll want his knife,
Sure enough, the Coyote-That-Bites did
shake his brown legs and arms quite vig
orously, but the last two big swallows
of mescal held him down. So, after
turning over and burying his hatchetlike
face in the sand, he lay quiet again.
When he had tints turned over, was
brought into view the rifle, which had
been concealed by his dirty blanket.
Dnbs eyed the weapon with covetous
eyes. He could not withstand the temp
tation of feeling it all over, stand it up
on its butt and trying tOBlioulder it, but
this last feat he could hardly accom
plish. Just what it was that kept his
fingers off the hammer and trigger, and
prevented a sound that would surely
have brought the Coyote to his feet with
a yell, I am sure I cannot tell, but Dubs
played with that fascinating weapon for
nearly an hour, while Gay poured sand
over the cartridges, hiding nearly all of
them from view.
By this time the son’s rays were on
the long slant, and the children were
very hungry. By this time, too, the
Apache was growing restless, for the
mescal had nearly lost its grip upon him.
A train thundering by, or, much less, a
“swift” brushing against his black foot,
a spider dropping on his leg, or even a
big fly buzzing at his ear—any of these
would have set his demon force into play
again.
But the children could not wait for
such demonstrations as these, thongh
why it did not occur to Dubs that the
Coyote’s ear needed ticking with a
grease wood twig, the Lord only knows.
The wind was up, and the wires were
murmuring loader than ever. The wee
ones had sported in the black shadows
long enough—had played with the fangs
of the deadly serpent until they were
tired and their stomachs were empty,
So they set off on a trot for home.
Just as they turned the bend and came
in sight of the low roof of the station, a
“dust devil” swept by the rocks where
lay the Coyote-That-Bites. He jumped
to his feet, grasped his empty sheath,
gave a mad whoop, and stared about in
feverish rage. There was his knife, half
covered by the sand, and there was his
rifle, far from his side. Here was the
cartridge belt, empty, and all about him
in the sand were countless little foot
prints.
A bewildered look stole over his face,
but it passed away when his eyes rested
on the empty demijohn. The expression
that replaced it was one of demoniacal
ferocity, and the lust of daughter lay
heavily upon him. But the cartridges—
where were they? He saw Gay’s mound
of sand, and kicking it, gave a grunt of
delight to see the brazen capsules that
were scattered right and left by his foot.
He picked them all up, grunting over
each one. Filling the belt and grasping
his rifle, he started off in the direction
in which the small footprints led. Like
a bloodhound, he chased along the track.
eyes scanned the plain at every turn,
and his breath was hot and strong. But
when he turned the big curve and saw
the station, he knew that he was late—
too late—and he gave a grunt of disgust,
and was off like the wind over a side
trail that led toward the sunset.
In the low roofed station house the
mother crooned to tired little Gay, lying
so soft and limp in her arms. She
looked out over the desert, saw the sun
touching the tips of the solemn giant
cacti with purple dots, saw the prickly
pear shrubs holding their grotesque
arms above the great sweep of sand that
ran down to the low horizon, and felt
inspiration of the scene, as she had
- - ; it before. For the desert has
that is all its own. She knew
ception. She got into a carriage at I ghip, to be long away, that he half for-
Euston in which were a young lady and | BOt his duty of keeping watch.
(apparently) her aunt, her intrusion being
much resented by the young lady, who,
I am sorry to say, did not scruple to
utter audible expressions of annoyance
at the invasion of her privacy, and al
together tried to make things as awk
ward and uncomfortable as possible for
the cabinet minister’s unhappy wife.
The latter, however, settled down be
hind her own paper till she was roused
by the sound of her own name. “Are
you going to Mrs. ’s reception?” the
young lady was asking her aunt. Yes,
the aunt was going. Whereupon the
niece broke into vehement exclamations
cf her desire to go, too, and for the rest
of the journey talked over every possi
bility of getting an invitation from the
cabinet minister’s wife, who was all the
time sitting opposite to her.—London
Spectator.
Suddenly a moaning sonnd arose in the
darkness near him. Startled from his
reverie, Clande shook himself, cocked his
gun and looked about him anxiously,
with eye and ear and every muscle on
the alert, remembering that his com
rades were asleep and that they trusted
to him to awaken them in case of danger.
The moans continued with a sound of
strangling like a death rattle; then a
faint, hoarse cry of agony arose from the
rained walls of the house. Claude peered
in at the doorway, struck a match and
saw lying in a corner on a heap of rub
bish and held down by the fragments of
the shattered roof the dark outline of a
human form.
A bit of candle end chanced to be ly
ing near and Claude lighted this and
crept softly toward the corner; in the
after a short engagement the Germans,
finding themselves surrounded, laid
down their arms.
Clande Latapie was lying in an am
bulance when the general of the corps
came”up, bringing him the viaticum of
the brave, the cross of the Legion of
Honor. The young man, however, made
a wild gesture as he exclaimed:
“No, no; you do not know how it
wast”
‘I know yon are a brave man,” re
plied the general.
‘Ah, my Godl” sighed Clande, “must
I proclaim 'my own dishonor before I
die? I deserve coart martial instead of
the cross.” And hnmbly, in a voice
broken by sobs, he confessed his momen
tary desertion from his poet, adding in
conclusion:
‘The whole outpost might have been
His Daily Fxperience Year
One star differs from another in glory.
There is high authority for this asser
tion, but its evident truth is of no special
significance to a sick man. Perhaps
even to a man in perfect health it is not
- mu woman nervous, urn s an.
“How old?” I asked anxiously.
“One hundred and six. She’s be
ginning to grow somewhat supersensi
tive." V
On our return to the office we found
several patients waiting for the dia-
of striking importance. But to the ob-: pemser of potions, pills and powders,
servant mind it is Interesting to note . My doctor spent an hour or more reliev-
that the country doctor differs greatly j jug the aches and pains that had sought
Heavy Ancient Saddles.
In Montfaircon’s engraving of the pil
lar of Theodosius, the covering upon
which the rider sits seems to have a
pommel in front of it and the extremity
of a saddle tree in the rear. That the
saddle was in use in 885 is substantiated
by an edict of that date issued by
the Emperor Theodosius, forbidding
riders of post horses to nse saddles of
more than sixty pounds in weight. The
saddles of that day must have been pon
derous affairs compared with the light,
yet strong and compact saddles now in
nse.—Detroit Free Press.
dim light he discovered a. soldier, one of destroyed .through my fault, yet I could
the enemy, who had evidently been not help pitying that miserable Ger-
strack down by the falling joists, for a man.”
beam lay across his chest. The young “His comrades made but a poor re-
Frenchman ottered an exclamation ex- turn for your compassion,” said the of-
pressing fierce hate, and drew his bayo- 'fleer.
net threateningly; tho other man looked “They warned me. I knew what to
at him with haggard eyes. Clande was expect,” Claude answered simply, “and
Agei of Trees.
The pine tree has a longer life than
trees of other species and attains an age
of from 500 to 700 years; the silver fir
comes next with 425 as a maximum, then
the larch with 275, the red beech next
with 245. The maximum ages of the
aspen, birch, ash, alder and elm vary
from 210 down to 130. The oak begins
to decay when about 800 years old,
though one particular variety of oak, the
holly, attains a greater age than this.—
New York Recorder.
Dorotlij’s lfuvto.
Mamma thinks Dorothy’s musical taste
needs to be cultivated. There was com
pany at tea one evening a little while ago,
and afterward one of the ladies played on
the piano. She plays very well, but Doro
thy was not interested. Presently she
said:
Now I’m going to play something
pecially for Dorothy.”
It was a very merry kind of tune, that
made us all feel like laughing. When she
finished, Dorothy clapped her hands and
exclaimed:
Oh, my! Wasn’t it lovely? Sounded
just like a hand organ!”—Youth’s Com
panion.
The Very Latest.
ashamed and drew back; it was indeed
an enemy, bnt a wounded one, and the
conscript lowered his musket, which
struck the frozen ground with a sharp,
clanking sound.
‘Let him die,” he muttered; but a
choking voice exclaimed imploringly:
“Drink!” /
“You want a drink? Very likely,” re
torted the yonng trooper, laying his
hand on the canteen, which, before tak
ing his place as sentry, he had filled with
warm coffee, generously seasoned with
brandy. “Very proper for me to warm
an enemy’s stomach at the expense of a
Frenchman’s!”
He laughed sneeringly, and as if in de
fiance of the wounded man’s entreaty
opened the canteen and put it to his own
lipv Bnt the first drop seemed to choke
him; after all, this wretched German was
a fellow man! Clande leaned his gun
against the wall, stooped over the suf
ferer, lifted off the heavy beam and then,
kneeling down, held the canteen over
the gasping mouth. The other man
raised Ids hands eagerly to grasp the
treasure.
‘None of that,” cried Claudq; “put
down your paws, or not a drop shall you
have. The creature thinks I would he
willing to drink after his beery lips!”
The wounded man understood, for he
had lived in Franc* before the war, and
made a movement as if to torn away
from the look of disgust which accom
panied Claude’s words, but his feverish
thirst made him change his mind. He
opened his mouth and the other man
poured into it a stream of warm coffee
from the canteen, then, standing up,
tossed off a bumper as his own share and
rushed out of the cabin in sudden terror
at the thought of having deserted his
post.
‘That was a hard tug,” said Claude,
between his teeth.
That
I am happy, for I die for France,
is more than I deserve.” <
Give me your hand, my brave fel
low,” cried the general. “You have
more than atoned. I am proud to com
mand such a man as you!” and stooping
he laid the medal on Claude’s breast and
gave him the accolade. The soldier’s
face was illuminated as he grasped the
medal in his hot hands, and gasping for
breath he murmured:
This is for my mother. Will yon
send it to her?’
And on receiving the general’s prom
ise the conscript smiled and died.
Many Persons ore broken
down from overwork or household cares.
Brown’s Iron Bitters Rebuilds th*
system, aids digestion, removes excess of hlla
and cures malaria. Get the senuine.
Beat Them AU.
The conversation turned upon aged peo
ple. “My grandfather,” said Gilhooly,
‘died at the age of ninety-four.”
‘My grandmother was one hundred and
three when she died,” remarked Hostetler
McGinnis.
‘And In my family,” put in Gus De
Smith, not to be outdone In boasting, “are
several who are not dead yeti’’—Texas
Siftings.
Then It Isn't There.
"Pa,” said Tommy, “the paper says Mr.
Bjenka is ‘an able financier;’ what is an
able financier?”
“An able financier, Tommy,” said Tom
my’s pa, “is a man who is able to borrow
two or three million dollars of other peo
ple’s money without being expected to ac
count for it until his estate comes to be
settled up.”—Somerville Journal.
“Drop a worm in the slot, and hear m*
sing.”—Life.
What Would tho Inference Be?
He was a trifle excited as he laid hi*
check down on the cigar stand in the bar-|
ber shop and reached in bis pocket for the
necessary change.
‘Where did yon get that idiot?” he asked)
indicating the barber who had just shaved
him. .
“Brown?” said the proprietor in somd
snrpiise. “Why, he’s one of the beet bar
bers in the shop. Did he cut you?’
“No, he didn’t cut me.”
“I thought not. He’s one of our star
men. Why, that man hasn’t bis equal tor
courtesy.”
“Courtesy!”
“Certainly. He notices every little thing
and pays a man the closest attention.
When one gets out of bis chair”
“Attention! Attention!”exclaimed the
patron.. “You call it attention, do you?
You think when he insults a man it’s
sort of delicate compliment, I suppose. Do
I look like a sot?”
“No.”
“Do I look like a man who even drinks
much?”
“No.”
“Then why did he powder my nose so
carefully? What was the inference, sir?
I ask you tbatl Is it a delicate attention?
No, sir. Not in a thousand years! You
discharge him or you lose my trade.”—
Chicago Tribune.
At the end of half an hour, partly for
the purpose of learning how the wounded
man was getting on and partly to shield
■himself from the cutting wind which
lashed his face, tiie young Ben try again
entered the cottage.
The poor German, still tortured with
fever, stretched out his hand for the can
teen, and filled with pity, Clande Lata
pie forgot his former repugnance, hur
riedly detached the gourd from his belt
and handed it to the sufferer. As he
went out again four armed men stood
before him, and before he had time to
give the alarm he was disarmed and a
prisoner. Sounds of hushed footsteps,
rendered almost inaudible by the deep
snow, now approached, and a body of
men came to a halt Their captain, a
Bavarian, ordered the prisoner into th*
house and question'd him in French,
but Claude made no reply.
‘Answer me, rascal,” said the officer
after a pause, “or your lips will he
opened by a bayonet through your body.
Where is the main guard stationed?'
The young soldier was silent
''-“Here, men, spike this pigheaded fel
low,” but an imploring voice exclaimed:
* ‘Stop!** In surprise the captain turned
around, saw the man lying in the corner,
recognized him as one of his own com
pany who had been left for dead, and
learned fcow compassionate the prisoner
had been to him.
“Very well, I will spare his life,” said
the officer, “but we most take him with
us. Muller and Hermann, bind his
bands and lead him between you, and if
he makes the least noise strangle him
with his own voice. Forward! We shall
soon find the French.”
Clande Latapie was in despair. He
had deserted his post, had failed to give
the alarm, and consequently his com
rades were about to be surprised and
The Deceased Wife's Sister.
A widower married a sister of his late
wife a few weeks after the death of the
latter. An acquaintance who had just re
turned from a long journey sympathet
ically inquired whom he was in mourning
tor.
‘For my sister-in-law,” was the hesitat
ing reply.—Lostige Blatter.
Ruined.
Clara—I hear that Miss De Grille has
rained her new ball dress.
Maud—You don’t tell met How did it
happen?
Clara—She was crying and a tear fell on
It. —Cloak Review. -
A Good Substitute.
Lady—Lisette, you are not going out like
that, are you? You smell so horribly of
turpeutinet
Cook—You see, mum, I couldn’t find any
other sort of perfume in the house.—Dorf-
barbler.
Friction.
“Willie,” said the visitor, “why are your
eyes so bright?”
“I teeps winkln my eyelids all ’e time.
That keeps ’em wubbed up an shiny,” Bald
Willie.—Harper’s Bazar.
By Degrees.
Mias Pinkie—I don’t see how you keep
your sailing canoe from tipping over.
Canoeist ((nodeady}—I began with a bi
cycle.—Good News.
Personal Security.
Overheard at a small dab in Parlst
‘Who will lend me a couple of louis? I’ll
pay him one back at once!”—Melanges.
At Last We Know.
It now appears that Sarah Bernhardt’s
mother was a milliner, which may account
tor Sarah’s prices.—Chicago Times.
For.Over Fifty Years.
Mbs. Winslows Soothing Svbuf has been
used lor children teething. It sooths tho chUd
softens tho gums, allays all palD, cures wind
idle, and is the best Temedy for Dlarrhasa.
twenty -live cents & bottle. Sold »>v »ll dreg*
throughout the w$ii*
tolt
cjtcti, where
pick
from his professional brother in the city.
I was struck by this fact a few days ago
during a sojourn in the hill country of
Connecticut. While there I passed a
day with a leading physician of the
township. He leads a qneer life.
“A city doctor knows nothing of the
difficulties we enoounter,” remarked my
friend as we drove toward the well tilled
fields lying beyond the village. It was
early morning, and the air was as fresh
as a young man just ont of college. The
doctor had been up for two hours placing
the affairs of his office on a solid basis.
“You see,” he continued, “it is not so
bad in summer, hut when the buow
comes I lead a terrible life. .1 freeze my
nose arid ears, I am overthrown by drifts,
at night I suffer from cold, and at mid
day the sunlight on the snow hurts my
eyes. Nevertheless, I am happy.”
He whistled a merry tone, touched his
mare with the whip, and in a few min
utes drew up at a farmhouse, whose
white walls and green blinds were pain
fully inartistic.
He was gone about fifteen minutes—a
doleful quarter of an hour for me. A
cow munched grass in the front yard
and an old oaken backet was the only
citified” thing in sight By that strange
law of action and reaction it took me
back to that awful night when I saw
The Old Homestead” at a New York
theater.
When the doctor hat replaced his
drug store underneath the seat and had
gathered up the lines 1 asked:
What kind of a case di4. yoa strike
there?’
Nothing serious,” he answered “A
young woman of seventy is suffering
from facial neuralgia. She has youth
and energy in her favor, however, and
will be all right in a day or two.”
I looked at him in surprise. Had his
lonely-life affected his brain?
One trouble I have,” he went- on,
“lies in the fact that I cannot obtain any
assistance in critical cases. When one
of your New York physicians desires
advice from a colleague all he has to do
to send a message down the block
somewhere. There are times when I
wonld give half my income for another
doctor’s aid, but I can’t get it I have
to follow the bird that flocked by itself
and do my own consulting. 1 must stop
here a moment I’ll-he out again in five
minutes.
I don’t believe a rural physician has
any idea of time. It may be that he has
the ability to count a pulse, bnt his in
terpretation of what is comprised in the
expression, “five minutes,” is peculiar.
held that mare for fully half an hour.
The flies bothered her and she grew rest-
There was no relief for me but to
gaze at the undulating landscape and
indulge in day dreams. “A pleasing
land of drowsiness it was, of dreams
that wave before the half shut eye, and
of gay castles iu the clouds that pass,
forever flushing round a summer sky.
On a verdure crowned hill some miles
to the northward arose a gigantic tree
that seemed to rejoice in its enormous
size. Perhaps beneath its branches the
treacherous redskin had closed his heavy
eyes. Perhaps it will look down npon
the valley when Chicago has grown
modest and Patagonia has been admitted
to the Union,
Such feverish fancies filled my mind
until the doctor’s return.
“What’s the matter inside?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing' to worry about. The
sick man is aliout ninety-eight years
old, and overworked himself yesterday
in the hayfield. He’ll come ont all
right. I’ve prescribed a day’s rest and a
calomel pilL Why, do yon .know, that
man, in spite of his age, can do more on
a farm in a week than yon or I could do
in a month. This is a healthy country,
my friend.”
I began to think he was right. Dar
ing the morning he made ten calls. Not
one of his patients was under seventy
years of age. At dinner, however, his
telephone rang—for they have a few
modern appliances up there, including
tank drama—and he was urged to
hasten to the bedside of a sick baby. I
went with him and held the mare.
There’s naught so much the spirit
soothes as rum and true religion,” re
marked Byron, a poet once in vogue. It
is evident that he had never waited for
a country doctor as he tended a crying
child. Snch an experience is not only
soothing to the spirit; it is a narcotic to
the senses. When the doctor returned
I was fast asleep, while the mare was in
a state of semicollapse.
What did yon do for the baby?” 1
asked.
“Told them to kill the cow,” he an
swered crossly, and I did not pursue the
subject.
Later in the afternoon he was called
to a patient living eight milee away.
Our road led through a dense forest, and
the air was stifling. Before we had
emerged from the woods a storm came
on, and the lightning flashed around ns
in a realistic way worthy of a well
staged rendition of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”
We were wet to the skin, and my com
panion seemed to realize that the expe
rience was not pleasant to me, for he of
fered me a cigar. Amid the war of the
elements I grew desperate and lighted
his gift. After the first puff 1 really
hoped that I should be stricken by light
ning.
The shower had cleared away as we
drew up before a low roofed, red painted
cottage surrounded by' trees. A very
pretty girl opened the door to the doo-
tor, while I continued my occupation of
holding a mare that would not -have run
away under the impulsion of a dynamite
bomb. My friend returned after the ex
piration of an exceedingly short time.
“Nobody sick in there,” lie remarked;
“RH flM - ** ” ”
him ont. Then we had supper. Before
the meal was over the telephone rang
again.- The man of science serenely
abandoned his cold ham and iced tea,
and I could hear him say:
Yes; give the baby two drops at 11.”
“Hello! No, don’t wake her up during
the night If she’s restless at sunrise
rub her with oil. That’s all. Goodby.”
Before he conld resume his supper a
patient rang the office bell. My doctor
was engaged for a hour. When he re
joined me on tho piazza the mare was at
the door.
“More calls?’ I asked.
“Yes, of coarse: I always spend the
evening on the road.”
We are gone until 11 o’clock. The
roads we traversed, the darkness of the
woods, the dreary barking of watch dogs
are to me like an unpleasant dream.
We returned to the office tired-and worn.
The doctor looked pale, and I supposed
of course that he would go at once to
bed. What was my astonishment to see
him place upon his desk a number of
account books.
Is not your day’s work done7” I
asked.
He smiled hopelessly. “Just begun,
my boy. If I didn’t work now the re
sult of the last twenty-fonr hours would
amount to nothing in dollars and cents.”
Then he spent half an hour in making
notes for his day’s labor. I watched him
with an emotion that was almost rev-
erentiaL Here, if anywhere, was a man.
Subduing all inclinations toward friv
olity or even healthy recreation, he goes
on his way day after day, applying as
skillfully as he can the scientific knowl
edge in his grasp.
For him there is no night, no Sunday,
no vacation; always fighting death he
gives up his life to the conflict. And
what does he find? Testy patients, ig
norant people who neglect his commands,
ungrateful tools who seem to think that
he is a slave to their demands, men and
women who look for miracles and do not
know that even a doctor cannot always
stay the hand of Terror’s King.
“And now for bed!” I exclaimed, as he
laid aside his books.
Not yet, I must have my case re
filled.”
Out into the night again. Near at
hand a light gleams in the window of a
-drug atpre. A sleepy clerk answered
onr knock, and iu a few initiates my
doctor was busy with the bottles on the
shelf. He was at work fully half an
hour. In his case he carried fifty phials.
Many of the drugs had been exhausted
in the day’s routine, and the act of re
plenishing took time. I yawned and
fretted, but the doctor seemed to feel no
fatigue. “He is made of iron,” I said to
myself as he strode homeward with a
film and even tread.
I had almost fallen to sleep later on
when I heard some one descending the
stairs. It was 12 o’clock.
“Where are you going?’ I asked, as I
recognized the doctor’s portly form.
“Into the office for an hour,” he re
marked. “This is the only time in which
I have a chance to do my scientific read
ing.”
I went back to bed, but I conld not
sleep. I was wondering how much my
friend made a year. At breakfast the
next morning I said:
“Doctor, I don’t want to be imperti
nent, but will yon kindly tell me how
much your practice pays you?”
He smiled quizzically as he answered:
“I earn $2,000 a year. I collect about
$900.”—Hartford Times.
He Drove Slowly.
It is not uncommon to refer to the
forms used in many households by some
familiar name, and dressmakers fre
quently designate them as “Mary Jane.”
A honeslioid wherein the skirt fora, had
come to be called “Miss Susan,” had an
amusing experience on account of it.
The form had been lent, and a new
coachman had just driven np with some
of the family, when the skirt form was
remembered. He was directed to drive
to a certain house, get “Miss Susan”
and come back with her in a harry.
After a long delay, the carriage drove
np at a mournful pace. “Shore, ma’am,”
said the coachman, in explanation of hia
delay, “they had to lift her acrost the
sidewalk into the coach, and I thought
she was a very sick lady indeed, and so I
had better drive slow.”—New York
Tribune.
Too Suggestive.
Miss De Pretty—Let’s form a secret
society.
Miss De Pink—Let’s. Just like the
Odd Fellows and Red Men. Call it the
Ancient Order of—of Kings’ Daughters.
Miss De Blond—Or the Ancient Order
of Dianas.
Miss De Yonng—Or the Ancient Order
of American
Miss Oldmaid—Oh, don’t let’s call it
the ancient order of any thing. —Good
News.
Some Costly Necklaces.
Mrs. Robert Goelet, daughter of
George H. Warren, has a necklace of
diamonds and sapphires which cost $11,-
000, a pearl necklace wSrth $10,000 and
a diamond necklace of solitaires from
seven carats down worth abont $25,000.
Besides these she has a large and varied
collection of valuable stones.—New York
Herald.
' “SaBS
Bucklen’s Arnica oaive.
Tho best salve in the *vorld for
oruises, sores, ulcers, saltrhe '
-ores, tetter, chapped hands, <
corns, and all skin eruptions, and
lively cure s piles, or no pay req .
It is guaranteed to give perfect satis
faction or money refunded. Price 25
cents per box.
For sale by John Crawford ds Co.,
Wholesale and retail druggists.
