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Watclntaa. Em. ISJ4)CM««IIdalfd with thr CbrawH* ' “ " :U^*EalVlM77« } Aihcnii Bauer, B>i. 1S33. HOUSE. He anint walk, be cannot speak. Not Mug be know* of books or men; He is the weakest «dT tfae weak Anil baa not strength to bold a poa. He bus no pocket and no pone, •i Nor e'-er yet baa owned a penny. But has more riches than his nurse. Because he wants not any. . i He rules bis parents by a cry, V' And holds them captive by a smile; A dojij>ot strong through infancy, I A king from lack of guile. He lies upon his back and crows. Or looks with grave eyes on bis mother; What can ho mean? But I suppose Thoy understand each other. Indoors and ont, early and late, There is no limit to his sway; For, wrapt in baby robes of state. He governs night and day. him; Hisses be takes as rightful due. And Turklike has bis slaves tod: His subjects bond before him too; I’m ono of them, God bless him. —Washington Star. TWO MEN. Two men tolled side by side from sun to sun. And both wore poor; Both sat with children, when the day was done. About their door. Ono saw the beautiful In crimson cloud And shining moon; Tbs w. or, with his head in sadness bowed. Made night of noon. One loved each tree and flower and alngtng bird On mount or plaio; No music in the soul of one was stirred By leator rain. One saw the good in every fellow mao. And hoped the best; The other marveled at his Master's plan. And doubt confessed. One. having heaven above and heaven be low. Was satisfied; The other, discontented, lived in woe And hopeless died. —Boston Transcript. LIFE. 1 bare heard a lot of people say That life is not worth living; But none the less I go my way Without the least misgiving. I don’t sit tip night after night To worry o’er the nation, Or run and yelp around all day 1 To work its reformation. I realise that things may run In sov’ral dififrent ways, But don't propose on that account To worry all my days. Let those who think the world is wrong, And can’t sleep till its righted. Go at it on the spot; I’m sure I shall be most delighted. But as for me, I am content To toko things as I find them. If thoy are not to ray sweet thoughts, I simply do not mind them. —J. Costerma in New York Sun. “GIN tR.” A COW BOYS HEROISM. Little Goldy strolled leisurely along the smooth strip of road which runs under the cut bank down to the crossing of the Cottonois, thinking to henelf how beautiful everything was, and how strange it was that all her friends should conspire to keep her shut up in that gloomy ranch house back under the hill, when such strange and delightful places wore to be found just on the out side of it The sun was high in the cloudless northern sky; hut the soft breeze, which came laden with the spicy breath of pines, lightly lifted the golden curls under the brim of the old ann hat and tempered its noonday heat. The short season of summer bloom *-as at its height, and lilies and wax flowers were being crowded by golden- rod and the tall Bpikesof the yucca while the sagebrush exhaled, under the heat of the sun, that pungent odor that reminds you of old New England gar dens, ahnt - in by picket palings and filled with beds of sage, thyme, rue, lav ender and all the aromatic herbs our grandmothers knew and valued—yet is withal, a wild, sweet perfume quite dia tinctly its own. A little way ont on the level which topped the cut bank at the right lay the foothills of the Antelope mountains rising and rounding against the dark blue of t''-> sky, while on the other side they fell is gradually into the plain be low. Between ran the road along one of those ledges which, forming the top of one and base of another group of hills, wound its way down into the canyon below, and was gladly accept ed as a highway “ready to hand” by the dwellers in these mountainous re gions; and upon this wild trail the little maid, having slipped away from her mamma, who was busy in her own room writing letters, and the housekeeper, who was deeply absorbed in the manu facture of bnlberry jelly in the kitchen, had set ont upon her travels. “Papa Jack! Papa Jack!” she sang at the top of her dear little voice, as Bhe wandered on, “Goldy’s comin to wide on big toby along wid you, Papa Jack!” The prairie dogs came out and sat on the roofs of their houses and chattered back at her; a big “rattier” raised him- Jiur ana ms norsc more on the “round up” than any other two boys or three ponies on the Cottonois or the Bijou, and Jim knew it as well as everybody else on the river. He had more than once been offered ‘ ‘big money” to take charge of some rival outfit, hut Fordham had picked him np years be fore- away south on the Canadian when 1: ■ was dead broke bucking against his luck at faro in Jule Howard's “Place” in the Old Adobe Walls, and they had staid together ever since that old time. Ginger was the pride of Jim’s heart, the very apple of his eye.'' No common broncho, but a clean built little mus tang, with a record as a cow pony brought from the wild Texas country where Jim found him. What he wouldn’t do at Jim’s command yon might be cer tain that no horse could do. Bear till you’d swear he was bound to fall back ward and crush his rider; walk at a nod from Jim into a saloon and knowingly wink an eye at the man behind the bar, and as for cows—holding, driving, haz ing or cutting ont—he knew it as well as his rider, and a great deal better if his rider happened'to be a green hand. And now, as I said, horse and rider were on top of the ent bank some twenty feet above the road, along which trotted little Goldy, lifting her small voice in invocation of “Papa Jack,” scouting and crashing along in hot pursuit of a big Texas steer that had broken away from "beneath the branding iron, wild and savage with pain and wilder and more savage for the rough haring given him by Jim and Ginger. The round np had been working that morning half a mile away across the Cottonois; had just made camp, and at that fateful moment “Papa Jack” was saying, sa he pulled the saddle from off. his tired horse: “I’ll throw tins onto Tobe and lope over to the ranch for dinner. It’s only a couple of miles; I’ll be back before yon are fairly at work.” And so, with his coat thrown over his am and his right leg curled around the pommel of ths saddle, to rest the tired muscles, he galloped his fresh horse easily np the slope from the Cottonois, to see—his child, his golden haired baby, running toward him, with arms out stretched, crying, “Papa Jack, I tomed to wider And behind her, only a few rods, coming at full charge, head down, eyes rolling in their blood full sockets, maddened by his morning’s tor ture, and wild to attack something—the big Texas steer, which had slipped down blind coulee under the very eyes of Jim and Ginger. Great heavens!” cried the father as 'the fall significance of the sight burst upon him. “Great heavens! I can't make it! Tobe!” and voice and spur and quirt were put at their work, and lean ing forward in the saddle the man brought all the strength that was in him to the task of urging on the animal. The horse was a good one, and he ran well, striding to his fall reach, sides and flanks heaving with the sodden strain, and soon flecked with the flying foam from his month, which mingled with the blood drawn by the madly driven spurs of bis rider. But in vain! Thi. chance was too great, and Jack Ford ham dosed his eyes and his sense* reeled at the thought of the horrible thing which he saw that he was power less to prevent. Meanwhile Jim had missed his steer and, riding near the edge of the bank in his search, heard Goldy’s cry at the sight of her approaching father, and peering over took in the situation at a glance. Measuring from his coign of vantage the relative position of the actors in the scene below, he wheeled his horse and galloped back a few yards, then head ing him toward a point which would bring him between the child and the in furiated animal, which was so rapidly nearing her, he gave a significant shake to the bridle. “We’ve got to do it, Ginger,” he said. “Goodby, old boy,” and straight as a shot the obedient creature sped—and horse and man came hurling down with a crash that put an effectual stop to the career of the brute below, which, recog nizing its old adversaries, turned and fled down the valley of the Cottonois. A minute later Jack Fordham flung himself from his panting horse, and with difficulty dragged his half con scious friend away from the carcass of poor Ginger, whose neck had been broken in the desperate leap. “Jim!” he cried, “Jim, old man! do you know what you’ve done? You’ve saved her from those horns and hoofs, man! The baby! don’t yon understand? Think of her mother, Jim; and of me. oldman. What is it? Your leg? We’ll have yon in bed in the house and the best doctor in the territory—Jim, old friend, can’t yon speak to me?” Jim opened his eyes, and his friends saw that a manly tear was standing in each of them. “Never mind the leg!” he cried; “it's poor old Ginger ITn thinking of I”—De troit Free Press. LA BRETOfflE. A Pathetic Story With a.Moral. and cdffed in a linen cap that \ me,” thought La Bretonne sorrowfully, • “ * **2 ? i ;'izt„i.T ere b ?“ UM -5 - The Question *f Fare Paying. Two ladies got into a Broadway car day or two ago and both at once opened their purses. “I have the change,” said self into a few lazy coils and then sanfe i one, and at the some moment the other, back under the protecting shadow of a j r the conductor, dropped greasewood; a lynx cat, stretched in a ' into his outstretched hand. Where- crevice of the ledge above, opened Ins ; upon the first woman, supposing sh«bad half shut eyes and bunked sleepily .at; been forestalled, {nit away her pocket- her; and the soft wind, Boughing tluough the tope of the big pines that stood ev erywhere among the hills, caught up the refrain—“Papa Jack!” And so the words came just in time book, But the conductor came on and asked for her fare. “Why,” said her friend, seeing that the other supposed she was paid for, “I One November evening, the eve of St. Catherine’s Day, the gate-of the Auberive prison turned upon its hinges to allow to pass out a woman of some thirty years,- clad in a faded woolen gown framed pale and puffed by that sickly hued fat which develops on prison regimen. She was a prisoner whom they had just lib erated, and whom her companions of de tention called La Bretonne. Condemned for infanticide, it was ex actly, day for day, six years agb that the prison van had brought her to the Cen- trale. Now. in her former garb, and with her small stock of money received from the clerk in her pocket, she foond herself free and with her road pass stamped for Langres. The courier for Langres, however, had long since gone. Cowed and awkward, \he took her way, stumbling toward tho chief inn of the borough, and with trembling voice asked shelter for the night But the inn was crowded, and the aubergiste, who did not care to har bor “one of those birds from over yon der,” counseled her to push on to the cabaret at the far end of the village. La Bretonne passed on, and more trembling and awkward than ever knocked at the door of that cabaret, which, properly speaking, was bnt a can- tine for laborers. The cabaretiere also eyed her askance, scenting doubtless a discharged” from the Centrale, and finally refused her on the plea that she had no bed to give her. La Bretonne dared not insist, bat with bowed head pursued her way, while at the bottom of her soul rose and grew a dull hatred for that world which thus repulsed her. She had no other resource than to gain Langres afoot. Toward the end of November night comes quickly. Soon she fonnd herself enveloped in darkness, on a grayish road that ran between two divisions of the forest, and where the north wind whis tled fiercely, choked her with dust and pelted her with dead leaves. After six years of sedentary and re cluse life her legs were stiff, the muscles knotted and her feet, accustomed to sabots, pinched and braised by her new slippers. At the end of a league she felt them blistered and herself exhausted. She dropped upon a pile of stones by the wayside, shivering and asking herself if she was going to be forced to perish of cold and hanger in this black night, un der this icy breeze, which froze her to the marrow. All at once, in the solitude of the road, she seemed to hear the droning notes of a voice singing. She listened and dis tinguished the air of one of those caress ing and monotonous chants with, which one soothes young chil Len. She was not alone, then! She struggled to her feet, and in the direction from which the voice came, and there, at the lorn or a emssroad, perceived- a reddish light streaming through the branch as. Fiva minutes later she was before a tnud waited hovel, whose roof, covered by squares of sod, leaned against the rock, and whose win dow had allowed to pass that beckoning ray. With anxious heart she decided to knock. The chant ceased instantly and a wom an opened the door, a peasant woman, no older than La Bretonne herself, bnt faded and aged by work. Her bodice, torn in places, displayed the skin tauned and dirty; her red hair escaped dishev eled from under a soiled stuff cap, and her gray eyes regarded with amazement the stranger whose face had in it some thing of touching lonelim Good evening!” said she. lifting yet higher the sputtering lamp in her hand; “what do you desire?" I am unable to go on,” murmured La Bretonne, in a voice broken by a sob; “the city is far, and if yon will lodge mo for the night you will do me a service. I have money; I will pay yon for the trouble.” “Enters* replied the other after a moment's hesitancy; “but why,” con tinued she, in a tone more carious than suspicious, “did you not sleep at Aube rive?” They would not give me a lodging,” lowering her bine eyes and taken with a sadden scruple, “be—because, see you, I came from the Maison Centrale.” “So! the Maison Centrale! bnt no matter—enter—I fear nothing, having known only misery. Moreover, I’ve a conscience against turning a Christian from tho door on a night like this. Til give yon a bed and a slice of cheese. And she pulled from the eaves some bundles of dried heather and spread them as a pallet in the comer by the fire. “Do you live hero alone?” demanded La Bretonne timidly “Yes, with my gachette, going on seven years now. I earn our living by work ing in the wood.” “Your man, then, is dead?” “Yes,” said the other brusquely, “the gachette has no father. Briefly, to each his sorrow! Bnt come, behold your straw, and two or three potatoes lert seemed to waken a confused maternal in stinct in the soul of that girl condemned in the past for having stifled her new bom. If things bad not gone so badly with SALLEE. Tom Clarkson was not considered a great actor by any one; He was a re liable man—always gave an intelligent reading of any part he undertook, but never seemed to create in his audience that intensity of attention, that “creepy sensation np the back” which comes to one when listening to an actor of great talent or genius. Tom was leading man at the old'^ol- beg your pardon. I did not pay your to the ears of Jim, who was hazing a , though I should have been pleased long homed steer back to the bunch j to j&m. My long residence abroad hiu. which was being held for tho work of ma( j 0 me unmindful of our American the roupad np, half a mile away on the other side of the Cottonois? Jim was a cowboy of tlio Creseentout- fit ands Goldy’s papa's right hand man, and though he was what Jack Fordham sometimes called a • sulky brute,” no hotter cowman ever coiled a rope or be strode a broncho. Jim—the name by which his “few and far between” letters came adui cased to tho Orcana postoffice —was “Charles Arthur Stakes,” but a cowboy must needs be rechristened into bis rough calling, and since Clvarley, a good name, and one well liked among the hoys, was ruled ont of court by the habit of this little exchange of financial courtesies. You knowiti^Burope every body pays his own wv;y and expects everybody else to do the same. Nobody thinks of franking yon over there. 1 really believe it saves time and trouble.” “Yes,” replied the other, “and money too. I hava a great deal of company from ont of town, and I don’t know wh;i they should, hut most of them expect me to do all the fare paying. "Whei | from supper. It is all I can offer you” She was called at the moment by a childish voice coming from a dark nook, separated from the room by a hoard par tition. “Good night!” repeated she, “the little one cries; I must go, bnt sleep you wellF’ And taking up the lamp she passed into the closet, leaving La Bretonne crouched alone in the darkness. Stretched upon her heather, after she had eaten her supper, she strove to close her eyes, but Bleep would not come to her. Through the thin partition heard the mother still softly talkin: the child, whom the arrival of a stranger had wakened, and who did not wish to this little one here. At that thought and at the sound of that childish voice a sickening shudder seemed to shake her very vitals#some thing soft and tender to spring np in that soured heart, and-an increasing need for the relief of tears. But come, coine, my little one,” the mother cried, “to sleep you must go! And if you are good and do as I cay, to morrow, maybe, I’ll take you to the St. Catherine’s fair!” The fete of little children, mamma; the fete of little children, you mean?” “Yes, my angel, of little children.” “And the day when the good St. Cath erine brings playthings to the babies, mamma?” i Sometimes—yes.” Then why doesn’t she bring play things to our house, mamma?” “We live too far away, perhaps, and then—we are too poor.” She brings them only to rich babies, then, mamma? Bnt why, mamma, why, I say? I should love to see playthings!” Eh, bien! some day you may, if yon are very good—tonight, perhaps, if you are wise and go to sleep soon.” “I will, then, mamma; I will right away, so she can bring them tomor row.” The little voice ceased; there was a long silence; then a long breath, even and light! The child slept at last—the mother also. La Bretonne only did not Bleep! An emotion at once poignant and tender tore at her heart and she thought more than ever of that little one whom they said she had killed." This lasted till dawn. Mother and child still slept, but La Bre tonne was np and ont, gliding hurriedly and furtively in the direction of Au berive and slackening her pace only when the first houses of the village came in sight. Soon she had reached and was travers ing its only street, walking slowly now and scanning with all her eyes the signs of the shops. One at last seemed to fix her attention. She knocked at the shut ter and presently it opened. A mercer’s shop apparently, bnt also with some toys and playthings in the window—poor, pitiful trifles, a pasteboard doll, a Noah’s ark, a woolly, stiff legged little To the astonishment Of the merchant, La Bretonne purchased them all, paid and went out. She had resumed the road to the hovel in the wood, when suddenly a hand fell heavily upon her shoulder, and she was face to face with a brigadier of gendarmerie. The unhappy one had fo*-gotien that it was forbidden to liberated prisoners to loiter in the neighborhood of the Maison Centrale. Instead of vagabondizing here, yon should already be at Langres,” said the brigadier gruffly. “Come, march; be off with yon! To the road, to the road, I say!” She sought to explain. Pains lost. At once a passing-cart was pressed into service, La Bretonne handled into it and in charge of a gendarme once more en route for Langres. The cart jolted lumberingly over the frozen rats. The poor. La Bretonne clutched with a heartbroken air her bundle of playthings in her freezing fingers. All at once, at a torn of the road, she recognized the cross path that led through the wood. Her heart leaped and she besought the gendarme to stop only one moment. She had a commis sion for La Fleuriotte, the woman that lived just there! She supplicated with so much fervor that the gendarme, a good man at heart, allowed himself to be persuaded. They stopped, tied the horse to a tree and as cended the pathway. Before the door La Fleuriotte hewed the gathered, wood into the required fagots. On seeing her visitress return, accompanied by a^gendarme, she dwelt open mouthed and With arms hanging. “Hist!” said La Bretonne, “hist! the little ’one—does it sleep still?” “Yes, hut” “Then, here, these playthings; lay them on the bed and tell her St. Cath erine brought them. I returned to An- berive for them, hut it seems I had no right to do it, and they are taking me now to Langres.” Holy Mother of God!” cried the amazed La Fleuriotte. “Hist! he still, I say!” And drawing near the bed herself, followed al ways by her escort, La Bre tonne scattered upon the coverlet the doll, the Noah’s ark and the stiff legged, woolly and somewhat grimy little lamb, bent the hare arm of the child till" clasped the latter, then turned with smile. Now,” said die, addressing the gen darme, vigorously rubbing his eyes with the cuff of his jacket—the frost, seemed, had gotten into them—“I am ready; we can go!”—Translated from the French of Thuriet by E. C. Wag goner for Short Stories. bom theater in London some fifteen years ago. That was before it was burned down and when it was devoted to the production of sensational melo dramas. I think it was then under tlie management of Clarence Holt, hut am not sure of this. Tom played heroes. He was a fine looking, handsome fellow, and when be enacted the part of a Jack Tar, and just as the Villain (with a capital V please) Was about to rush off with J;he sweet heroine, weighing a hundred and sixty pounds, after having instructed his hand to carry off the treasure and mui a „th. old “parknte,” Tom 2?* w wie.55 ouu UAU aaOV fc%«. with the same spirit as heretofore. Hi>- thonghts seemed anywhere but on tin. stage, and every now and then we could hear him heave a great sobbing sigh. •’The audience, however, had grown lenient. Tom'had caught their sympa thies in the earlier acts, and anything he did was good enough now. “The act was nearly over: Tom was in the middle of his last speech when we noticed a woman standing in the wing with a note in her hand. It was Mrs. Clarkson’s servant girl. “Almost hurrying through his words, for Tom had caught sight of her, too, we came to the ‘tag,’ the last words of the play. They were soon spoken, and amid an outburst of applause the cur tain came down. Scarcely waiting for the roller to thump upon the stage Tom rushed at the girl and tore the note from her hands. “I saw it afterward—this is how it read: “ ‘Tom, dear Tom, our darling has fallen and hurt herself; come home quickly.’ “Without waiting to change his dress, without waiting to wash off the grease The Philippine Islanders smoke cigars a foot in length. The Burmese natives delight in loosely rolled cigars from six to eighteen inches long. we go about, two or three together, for a few days, it is easy to use up an g 0 to sleep again. appreciable amount of change m car j The mother soothed and fondled it — —j — -j r—- fares.” A statement few will dispute, -with words of endearment that some- fact that it belonged to him of right, he jt ^ to be wished that this European bow strangely disturbed La Bretonne. was called Jim, and the name suited practice might obtain here.—New York Tkot .wrtvnr-o* of eiinnle tenderness the man, and the man answered to the Times. I name and no one demurred thereat. (limior were worth The Governor of Kansas, disregard ing the just request of the Farmers’ Alliance, that he summon the Legis lature together to electa Senator rep resenting the people, has appointed a Republican to succeed Mr. Plumb. To aggravate bis offense he has appointed ex-Congressman Biship W. Pekkxns, was sure of a tremendous roar of ap plause from the gallery by rushing down the stage from some unexpected locality, shouting: “Neverl Unhand the girl, ruffian! Never shall it be said that a British sailor deserted his ship or failed to rescue a pretty girl in distress!” Then he would go for the villain and heat him and his “dastardly crew” off the stage. Tom Clarkson was a married man with one little daughter, a poor, delicate little thing of six yearn, who worshiped her father in a way Bimply rivaled by his own adoration. There could not be many more completely attached families than Tom Clarkson, his. wife and little Sallie. It was positively beautiful to see them sometimes when at rehearsal Tom would bring little Sallie “to keep her ont of harm’s way,” as he said, “while the wife is doing the marketing.” It was question which loved Sallie more, the father or the mother, and it was pretty to notice how the child endeavored to share her favors equally between them. So sweet, too, were Sallie’s ways and so amiable and loving was she, and so patient when all knew how she most suff er at being unable to romp and play like other children, for her mind was as bright as a star, that every member of the company down to the meanest super and smallest stage hand was in love with her and ready to go to the other end of London, or England for that matter, for the sake of “Mr. Clarkson’s Sallie.” ‘Our little Sallie” most of them called her, for she seemed to belong to them. Two years ago, when in London, the story was told me by a prominent actor at the Adelphi, who had been a member of the Holbom at the time Clarkson was ‘in the lead.” “We were going to produce a new play that night,” he said, “and Tom was :in high feather, for he had a part which suited and pleased him and he thought his chance had come at last. Something else excited pleasurable feelings within his breast. He had obtained a couple of dress circle tickets, and his wife and our little Sallie were to be in front to see the first performance. Tom came down to the theater in great spirits. We ail knew in a very short time what was the matter. He had all sorts of fannylike yams to tell about Sallie and her excitement and de light at the idea of coming to see father act. He told ns fellows in the dressing room how she had put her little arms around his neck and had insisted upon giving him the last kiss before starting him off to his work. ‘That’s for good lnck, father; don’t yon wipe that off. I’m coming to see yon tonight; mind, you make a big hit.’ And Tom laughed with delight as he imitated the baby voice rising the quaint theatrical slang expressions. The play was a highly sensational one,.and Tom’s big voice and fine figure had plenty of opportunity to make capi tal for themselves. This was always a source of great fun in the theater, for we knew Tom to be the most gentle hearted fellow that ever breathed. As the saying goes, he wouldn’t have hurt a fly. Why, he was tender and kind as a woman, and a kinder nurse never lived. I was only playing ‘walking on’ parts at the time, bnt he had always a kind word, a gentle suggestion of advice for me, and I had been to his little home in Holloway several times. He was like a big elder brother to me. Little Sallie used to call me her sweetheart. “Tom was dressed quickly that even ing and down on the stage looking through the peephole to see his darlings arrive. It is not always so very easy to distinguish people in the front of the house from the stage, though, and when the first act was called Tom had not yet been able to find them. He knew they were there, though, and full of the feel ing that he was acting for their delight he did his very best “I never saw him act so well before, The manager was heard to remark that he ‘didn’t believe it was in him.’ We fellow actors knew all about it, though, and when the applause came at the end of the act, and Tom, nervous and ex cited, stepped before the enrtain, he and we felt sure we could hear above all tho noise the dapping of a tiny pair of hands in the dress circle, and a little baby voice saying: ‘Look, mother! mere’s father! Isn’t he beautiful! Oh. Hn so happy!* “By and by some of the rest of the company began looking through the peephole for Tom’s wife and child, but no one could see them. “Then as the play went on we noticed that Tom himself was getting anxious. He had not been able to find thorn either and he had begun to wonder why they were not there and what had become of them. Still hope had not left him.. He felt sure that somewhere in the vast au ditorium a pair of bright brown eyes were following his every movement and he did his very best, though with a somewhat heavy heart. “He had a big change in dress to make before the fifth act, and as he had been on the stage up to the last moment of the fourth he had very little time to make it in. Therefore he did not get wig and all, just as he was, just as he had made the first and biggest success of his life, he rushed from the stage, pushing aside every one who stood won dering in his way; with eyes staring like a madman's, all the terror and grief that was eating at his heart looking ont from his face, he ran headlong down the staircase and passage to the stage door crying: ‘Get me a cab! For God’s salM a cab! Oh! my God! my darling! darling! he quick! Bhe may he dead!’ “Just as he reached the threshold something seemed to give way. He tripped and fell forward on his face, and a great gush of blood spurted from his mouth and nose. “They picked him up so tenderly, those supers and stage hands standing round about, and carried him into the doorkeeper’s room and sent for a doctor. Bnt when the doctor came poor Tom Clarkson was dead. “Well, no, that is not the whole of the story. The whole company sub scribed, and the manager gave a benefit for Mrs. Clarkson, and a nice little sum was raised. We have never let her be in want, besides Tom had always been a thrifty man. But the most interesting part of . this anticlimax to me is yet to come. Sallie did not die. We had good doctors for her, and she grew np straight and strong and tall, and if yon will come to the Adelphi this evening you will see my little wife make her debut on the stage. We have been married eighteen months.”—Tracy L. Robinson in New York Recorder. Work of Congressmen In the National Capitol. Washington, Jan. 8.—Up to this feline, nothing of a startling, or even specially interesting nature has tran- pired in either branch of the national assembly. Colonel Hill, of New York, has sub scribed to the senate oath of office, and is now a fatly equipped member of that august body. He wears his honors gracefully, and will doubtless forgo his way rapidly to the front rank of sena tors. J;-..- Mr. Mills has written a letter to a prominent citizen of Austin character izing his defeat for the speakership as "the defeat of a great cause." Considerable disappointment is felt at the failure of a Georgian to receive the appointment of commissioner, which went to Lindsay of Kentucky. - Mr. Mills is still at his home in Texas upon an indefinite leave of absence from the house. His health is not yet fully recovered. Mr. Wise of Virginia, will act as chairman of the committee on foreign and interstate commerce daring the absence of Chairman Mills. Livingston of Georgia, introduced an important resolution in the house which provides for the. investigation of the cause of the financial depression of the country. * The resolution in whereas sets .forth the fact that there is-a wide spread demand for financial reform, and this demand is being "intensified daily by the depressed and poorly com pensated producers and laborers of this country. ” • It then presents a set of resolutions in lix sections, that a special committee ot seven shall report upon as early as practicable. The investigation looks to the establishing of the amount of na tional bank notes oatstanding, the. amount based upon United States bonds' and United States currency; also, the amount of United States bonds held by national banks as basis for circulation, and the reason for their not being used • for that puipose, together with the amount of contraction in every species sf currency that has been used as a part of the circulating medium since the ar 1885; the amount of currency now the United States, its kind and New Principles In Physics. A Mr. Lewis, of this city, claims to have discovered some new principles in the laws of physics, and is prepared to demonstrate that there are errors in Newton’s “Principia.” It has long been considered an established fact that the pressure of the atmosphere could only raise a column of water in a vacuum about twenty-two feet, and in practii-e it has not been fonnd possible to raise, water quite that distance by means of a suction pump. Mr. Lewis claims that he can raise water fifty or sixty feet by- means of a suction pump. He has a large lot of mathematical calculations bearing on this matter, and is now studying np the rise and fall of the tider -an this coast witn a view of ascertaining what influence the attrac tion of the moon exerts upon the earth. He is preparing an account of his studies and discoveries to be sent to the Colum bian exposition. If he can exhibit there a suction pump which will rals^ water fifty feet he will, it is safe to say, at tract more attention than any other ex hibitor at the exposition, not omitting Edkon. —Portland Oregonian. r The Evolution of the Razor. “Does it ever occur to you to wonder, when your complain of the torture of shaving, how men managed to keep their faces clean before the exquisitely tempered steel razors of today were in vented?” said a scientist. You have only to observe the ancient sculptures to see that shaving was prac ticed in the earliest times. The faces of tho old Egyptians "are represented in their statues and hasreliefs as clean shaved, except for the heard on the chin. What sort of razors did they use? No body knows; but something is known about the evolution of the razor in a general way. “The first razor was a pair of dam or mussel shells, with which our savage ancestors pulled out the hairs of his head by grasping them as with pincers. In the coarse of time it was found ont that by sharpening the edges of the shells they could be ground against one another so as to saw off the hairs. Two keen edged flakes of stone could be employed for the same purpose, as the Mexican Indians utilize bits of obsidian. As a rule the straight haired and Scant beard ed races today, like the Nosth Americen Indians, pluck out their beards. Th Polynesians get rid of their superfluous hair with chloride of lime, which they manufacture by burning corah “When the bronze age arrived razors were made of that material, which has since been superseded by tempered steel. The latest razors are fire and electricity. Barbers of the most'advanced school nowadays singe the hair instead of cut ting it, and an electric needle is used to destroy hairs where they ought not to grow by being thrust into the follicles, a slight current killing the roots.”- Washington Star. who was one of the _ many mis-Reprt- time to take a last peep at the auditorium, sentatives in the Billion Dollar Con- j think some kind of a presentiment gress defeated for re-election in 1890. ■ must have filled his mind, for he seemed to have grown •*—** ««* TWO HUNDRED LIVES LOST m m where located, and how distributed by states. The amount of currency in kinds held by the United States treasury and by national banks as reserves; the volume Ot business transacted by the United States daring the year 1880, with tho amounts based respectively upon cash and credit, and to what exten is for eign capital invested or used in the United States; also its effect upon the industries of the. country, and also to report such suggestions and amend ments to the present financial system as, in the judgment of the commission, may.be to the b-st interest of the people of this country, * A meeting of the Alliance presidents, ealledby President Polk, was respond ed to by about twenty state presidents. Their sessions were held in secret. President Poik stated that the meeting was callecl'to discuss several minor ad ministrative matters. Nothing, how ever would at present be’ made public. The sadden illness qf Secretary Blaine caused great alarm in national circles, and the news of his partial recovery, and assurances of no serious results an ticipated, is hailed with pleasure on all tides. In ■ Terrific Mine Explosion in Indian Territory. Kansas City, Jan. 8.—A Journal ipecial from McAllister, L T., says; A report has reached here from shaft' No. 5 of the Osage Coal and Mining company of Krebe that a terrible ex plosion occurred there at 5 o’clock, from the effects of which two hnndred lives are probably lost. It was just before day. The shift changed off and came ont of the mine when a puff of smoke was seen to es cape from the mouth of the' single shaft to the mine and immediately fol lowing this there was heard a terrible report followed by a rambling as if of rolling thunder. The men at the top of the shaft at sues sounded the alarm and made pre parations to send down a rescuing party, bnt found, that the mouth of the shaft had been completely dosed up by the debris. When the messenger left, noth ing had been done toward getting the men out except to organize a relief par ty, which was to begin at once on the lebris. There are between 180 and 300 men entombed in the mine, and it is believed that every one will lose his life, for the thaft is a single one, with no means for sir to set to the entombed men. It was Impossible to get any farther particu lars from the seat of trouble. ; To Make Pyrites and Acid. Blacksburg, S. C., Jan. 8.—This “GENTLE AS THE SUMMER BREERE.” ‘ I’d rather take a thrashing aDy lime than a dose of pills,” groaned a patieDt to whom the doctor has prescribed physic. “I’d fts lief be sick with what ails me now, as to be sick with the pills.” . “I don’t think you’v** taken any of he I presciibe, or you wouldn’t dread pills the prescription so,” laugh the doctor. “I never U9u the old, inside twister you have in mind. , I use Dr. Pierce’s Pleasant Pellets. They alway make me think of a part of au old hymn— ‘ mild and lovely, Gentle as the summer breeze.’ The best thing of the bio'd ever invented. No danger of their making you sick. You’ll hardly know you’ve t ken them. I wouldn’t use any other in my practice. town will soon have a million dollar company for -the purpose of manufac turing pyrites and sulphuric acid from the adjacent mines. The secretary of state has issued a commission to the company to be known as the Carolina Sulphuric Acid Manufacturing com-, pany. I There is a possibility of carrying even self denial to an extreme. While we are preaching free trade-to the na tions of the earth and helping them to cheaper food, clothing and machinery, it does seem like our people should have at least a few crumbs from the ta ble of reciprocity. But it is not so. We must be content to do good to oth ers. The showers of blessings are not for the people of the United States. They must be satisfied with what they have, and grateful if the misdeeds of other nations do not provoke the presi-j dent to lay a taxon their sugar, mo lasses, coffee, tea and hides. :