Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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.