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VJ.AUGHING PHILOSOPHY.
'll nature deigns to charm the eye
With flowers of every hue,
jejoicing, though at night they die,
Why not be happy, too?
Why not—why not—
Why not bo happy, too?
A thousand creatures frisk and fly,
And seek, and spend, and woo ;
Shall we the common law deny?
Why not be happy, too?
Why not—why not—
Why not be happy, too?
Squirrel and bee with rapture ply
The arts their .fathers knew ;
If these rejoice, why so may I!
. Why not be happy, too?
' Why not—why not—
Why not be happy, too?
The beady brooks go laughtng by,
The birds sing in the blue,
The very heavens exult, and cry ■
Why not be happy, too?
Why not—why not—
Why not be happy, too?
—Dora Bead Goodale.
AFTERMATH.
BY EDITH MABY HORBIS.
GIRL passed
up the hot,
dusty street,
where the wind
blew scraps of
dirty paper
and other re
fuse under the
feet of the
passers and the
sun smote
fiercely upon
the not too
clean bricks
of the pavement. She paused be
fore one of a row of dingy brick
houses, unlocked the door with her
latchkey and passed in and up three
flights of narrow stairs until she
reached the topmost story ; here she
opened the door into anew world from
that of the stairs and hallway, which
wero no fitting ladder to such a para
dise as this—a paradise made by her
own little capable hands, aided by
gratitude deep-lying in her loving
heart.
A churl would have forgotten his
humors in the pleasant surprise of
finding at the top of the dusty Btairs
so quiet and pleasant a place as this
little home of four attic rooms. The
walls were papered with the lightest
and gayest of papers, because, do as
one would, one could hardly make too
bright a house on the shady side of
this narrow street; for the same rea
son the windows were draped rather
than shaded with the whitest of scrim,
tied back with bright ribbons, flowers
in boxes, and pots were in bloom on
the window sills; there was a canary
hanging over one of them in a pretty
brass cage, and the pictures, though
only cheap Gorman lithographs, were
well chosen and neatly framed in
white enamel. The furniture was old-
fashioned, and probably shabby, for
the easy chairs and lounge wero alike
covered with flowered chintz, and the
worn three-ply carpet was covered by
knitted rugs, on one of which an
enormous gray cat was peacerully en
joying her afternoon nap.
Annice passed into the kitchen,
quite as bright and pretty in its way
as the more pretentious sitting room,
and as she stood by the table, covered
with neat oil cloth, on which she put
two or ilii*eo parcels suggestive of gro
ceries, she made a picture fair to look
upon—a picture of innocent, graceful
girlhood. Not only was she one of
the very prettiest girls that ever blos-
Bomed in a dingy street, but she had
the air which made people pronounce
her a “mont interesting girl;” her
very presence exhaled the idea of pu
rity and nobility which is so marked
in some young women and is so
strangely fascinating.
For a moment she was lost in
thought ns she stood to take breath
after her arduous climb, but the strik
ing of a near-by olook put her revery
to flight.
•‘Five o’clock,” she said, with the
habit of speaking aloud engendered by
long hours of solitude, ‘ ‘and uncle will
be here at six; I shall have to hurry. ”
Hastily removing her hat and cape,
she busied herself in lighting a kero
sene oookstove and making other prep
arations for the evening meal. She
worked methodically and daintily and
the supper that presently was set upon
the white draped table would have
satisfied one hard to please.
Annice having put the finishing
touches to her arrangements, vanished
into her own room end emerged there
from looking perilously charming in n
dainty gown of pale pink cheese cloth,
which contrasted well with her rich
brown hair, and gave the needed sug
gestion of color to her too-delicate
cheeks, just as a hand touched the
handle of the door and its owner en
tered the room.
A tall, strong-faced man in humble
garb—a working man, industrious,
horny of hand and tender of heart,
such was William Crump, the best,
the only friend that Annice had
known.
He it was who had taken the moth
erless child in his strong arms when
the mother lay dead, her heart broken
by the cruelty and desertion of the
man she had chosen for her husband.
Twenty years before the date of our
story, in a New England village, a
girl and boy had grown up together—
playmates, friends, lovers; then in an
evil day, ambition entered the heart
of the girl, and she left the safe se
clusion of her country home to dwell
in that great hive of workers, a big
city.
A worker herself, bright, modest,
intelligent, she had made friends,
many of them doubtless more polished
than her boy lover in the distant vil
lage, but none more honest and true
of heart. Once or twice she had writ
ten to her old friend, telling him of
her life in the city, the the letters
ceased, and later came wedding cards
and cake. Then he heard nothing
more for two or three years, when a
whisper reached him that “ 'Mandy
.Tones” had been deserted by her hus
band, who had gone to California,
leaving her in Boston.
Crump heard these tales and made
no comment, but he gave up his work
at home and sought employment in
Boston, hoping that he might be en
abled to help his old playmate, whose
parents were long since dead, and who
had no near kin to lend her aid.
This, the only hope of his life that
was to have fruition, was fulfilled, But
Mandy was dying when he found her,
and her last hours were soothed by
the knowledge that her little girl had
found a new father in her old friend.
“Don’t look for her father, William, ”
the poor girl had implores him, “he
don’t care for her, and likely he’d let
her drift. God knows, she may be a
blessing to you by-and-by.”
A blessing she wos from that moment
to the solitary man, who loved her
with the intense affection which was a
part of his nature. He got board for
them both with a woman who was will
ing to care for the child, and he loved
to come at night and feel the clinging
of her tiny arms, the kiss of her dewy
lips, and to hear her happy infantile
prattle.
So the little one had grown, know
ing no love or care save that of her
“Uncle William;” and when at last
she left school she had coaxed him to
take these four rooms, and had made
for him such a home as he had never
dreamed of possessing. Truly, his
blessing in its fullest measure had
come!
But, alas, for human hopes! It is
when our happiness is at its fullest
that the serpent enters our Eden,
marring the fair scene by his hideous
presence.
Such a serpent had crept into poor
William’s Eden on this summer after
noon, taking the form of a well-fed,
well-dressed and prosperous business
man, with white hands and diamonds
and soft persuasive speech. Yes, by
some unforeseen chance the renegade
father had learned that his child, in
stead of perishing in infancy as he be
lieved, had been reared to womanhood
by William Crump.
He had come to Boston to see her,
and unknown to her had seen her; his
pride had been inflamed by the idea
that this beautiful girl was his daugh
ter. His suddenly acquired fondness
for her was a species of personal con
ceit, a feeling which is too often be
lieved by its possessors to be the much
maligned parental affection.
Had Annice been described to him
as plain, ill-educated and ill-mannered,
his search for her would never have
taken place, and poor William Crump
would have been welcome to bear his
burden alone. As it was, George Wil
son had been urged to this search by
his second wife whom he had married
in his prosperity, but who had given
him no children. She had grown tired
of her pugs, and having rather more
money than she knew how to spend,
she had thought it would be pleasant
to lavish it upon a beautiful girl—per
haps, too, the maternal longing which
lurks in every woman’s breast was
strong in her.
At any rate, Wilson had made it his
business to seek Mr. Crump at his place
of business and had there made large
offers which were indignantly rejected
by the proud, honest man.
* “It is true that Annice is your daugh
ter ; you have given me undoubted
proof of your identity. It is true that
you are a rich man, and that I am a
poor one; I will not stand in the child’s
way, nor influence her in any degree
against taking the better fortune that
is offered her—I love her too dearly.
I want no recompense for what I have
done in the past; you cannot recom
pense me for what you take from me
if you take her.”
This was William Crump’s answer,
and it had been arranged that Wilson
should see his daughter for the first
time, to her knowledge, that evening ;
and William, in the meantime, had
promised to say nothing of the matter
to her.
So William’s step was slow and
heavy as he climbed the familiar
stairs, and his utmost effort could not
make his greeting cheerful as he
entered the room. For once he was
glad to escape her caresses and made
his way to his rooms to change his
clothing, as had been his invariable
custom since he had felt himself unfit
in his oil-grimed garments to nurse
the baby girl in her dainty white
raiment. As he entered in his cool
clean seersucker coat, Annice led him
to the table and waited on him deftly,
chatting merrily the while, for she had
noticed that he was not in his usual
good spirits, and thought that the heat
and his work had wearied him.
So she lavished caressing attentions
upon him, unwitting that each dear
way but added to the sum of his
anguish and despair.
Yes, despair, for never father loved
child better than he did his adopted
niece, and in his care for her he had
allowed himself to form no other ties.
Separated from her, he would be like
a tree blasted by lightning, like a ship
denuded of its rudder and mast Rnd
forced to complete a journey over
rough seas.
At last supper, which had seemed an
eternity to him, was over, the dishes
put away, and then Annice brought
her violin, and heavenly strains filled
the garret room. To William, the
music-lover, the rapturous strains
sounded like a requiem; strange he
thought—for feeling had made his
brain strangely benumbed and cloudy
—that Annice should play her own
requiem—or was it his? Then came
the dreaded knock at the door; he
arose—and felt that life was ended for
him as the stranger came in at the
door.
“Annice, dear, this gentleman is—”
he paused, unable to tell her more,
nnd his hand trembled as he steadied
it on the back of a chair and she,
divining trouble, gazed intently on the
visitor who had inyaded their peaceful
privacy.
“I am a very near relative,” said
the stranger in a suave voice, in answer
to her look; “in fact, the nearest that
you could have. Can’t you guess who
I am?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t know that
I had any relations, except Uncle
Will.”.
“Did you never hear your father
spoken of?”
“My father!” exclaimed Annice in
amazement, “no; I always supposed
that I was an orphan.”
“Would you have wished me to tell
her what I knew of her father?” asked
William slowly.
As he spoke a picture rose before
George Wilson. A bare, miserable
room, himself—ah, was that disre
putable-looking loafer really George
Wilson as he had been—a shabby,
worn woman, whose tears and re
proaches half maddened the wretch,
until he forgot his manhood and struck
her, awakening the sickly infant,
which began to wail, and he slunk
from the room—forever.
The portly, prosperous man shud
dered and put forth his hands as if to
push something away from him:
“No, no, no!” he reiterated, “I
thank you, sir, as much for your re
servations, as for your care of my—of
my daughter.”
As Wilson uttered the last word, do
what he would, William could not re-
: press a groan, that one word meant to
him loss—the deepest, the most irre-
! parable loss that he could know; for it
: meant that his one ewe lemb, his blos-
! som of love, plucked by him from the
gutter of poverty and neglect and worn
in his bossom these many happy years,
I was his no longer, but had passed into
! the possession of another. Annice, as
the sound fell on her ears, was at his
side in a moment.
“Uncle, dear uncle!" she cried,
forcing him into a chair as she spoke.'
“This will make no difference to us;
I no difference at all. ”
“Dear child, it must—it will. You
must go with your father. He is rich,
influential, he can give you what I
cannot—make a great lady of you,
Annice. ”
“A lady, uncle! I would rather be
a working woman than an idle fins
lady. Do you think* I could be happy
in the midst of all sorts of gaieties, if
meanwhile you, who have been mother,
father, brother tome, were here alone,
toiling for your daily bread with no
one to sweeten it for you?”
“Mr. Crump shall be well provided
for; he will have no further need to
toil,” interposed Mr. Wilson.
Annice turned with flashing eyes;
“He will be alone!” she said; “do
you think your money will pay for
that!”
“Don’t you think a daughter's right
place is with her father?” asked Mr.
Wilson, persuasively.
“Then,” said she, “I have been in
the wrong place for a good many years;
so that now I feel it to be the right
one. ”
“Hush, dear,” said William, gently,
“you will go with your father, I shall
do very well. You can write to me,
you know, and tell me of all your gay
doings, and I shall have my books and
my pipe, and I shall sit here and think
of the happy days here in the time
when wealth and parents were unknown
to you. Oh, I shall do very well, dear;
very well, indeed!”
But Annice stood by the side of his
chair stroking his gray hair, and the
tears were running down her white
cheeks.
‘ ‘Uncle, you break my heart, ” she
said. “What have I done that you
should send me from you? Don’t you
know that no place, however splendid,
would be home to me without you?
Sir,” she added, turning to her father,
“I cannotgo with you. I am of age to
choose, and I am his by right of all the
years of care and tenderness he has be
stowed upon me. He has denied him
self a thousand things that I might
have the best; all that I am, I owe tc
my Uncle William; I shall stay and
work with him and for him until death
parts us. ”
Within the room a deep silence had
fallen; without, were all the signs of
the common, shabby life of the neigh
borhood—clumsy stepsupon thestairs,
children playing and shrieking about
the doorways, a late huckster crying
his stale berries. William and Annice
were upon the heights, and eveD
George Wilson, whose thoughts more
commonly ran to real estate and dol
lars, caught the light from their trans
figuration. He was the first to open
the book of speech after this sacred
silence.
“It is right; it is just,” he said,
slowly. “I am disappointed, of course,
but I am not mean enough to grudgl
you the daughter you have fairly won,
Mr. Crump ; you and I are both reap
ing the aftermath of the seed we have
sown. Annice, you will write to me
sometimes. I am to blame, bitterly tc
blame, in this matter ; I treated your
mother, as good a woman as evei
lived, shamefully, and this is my pun
ishment, As a proof that yon have nc
hard feelings against me, you will ac
cept the allowance I shall send you.
daughter ? Some day, perhaps, w«
shall meet again; till then, good-by.”
He shook hands with William, and
then turned to Annice.
“Good-by, dear father,” she said,
clasping his neck and kissing him. “I
shall love you, too, though my place
is with him now. ”—Yankee Blade.
WORDS OF WISDOM.
Going gently about a thing won’t
hinder its being done.
We have nothing to do with oui
past, but to get a future out of it.
Science ever has been, and ever
must be, the safeguard of religion.
A sound discretion is not so muck
indicated by never making a mistake
as by never repeating it.
There is transcendent power in ex
ample. AYe reform others uncon
sciously when we walk uprightly.
The way to wealth is as plain as the
way to market; it depends chiefly or
two words—industry and frugality.
There is no such thing as chance,
and what to us seems accident springe
from the deepest source of destiny.
There is no action of man in thii
life which is not the beginning of sc
long n chain of consequences, os that
no human providence is high enough
to give us a prospect to the end.
It does us good to admire wfiat ii
good and beautiful; but it does us in
finitely more good to love it. Wc
grow like what we admire; but we be
come one with what we love.
Let us with caution indulgo the
supposition that morality can be
maintained without religion. Reason
and experience both forbid us to ex
pect that National morality can pre
vail in exclusion of religious prin
ciple.
Freak o! n Bolt of Lightning.
Lisgir St. Lambert, the famous Jer
sey bull at Idlewilde(Ga.) J. J. Doughty’s
lower farm, was struck by lightning
recently and instantly killed.
The circumstances of the killing are
quite phenomenal and astonishing.
The animal had become quite vicious
of late and could not be given free run
to do as he pleased. He was kept tied
to a cedar post in the centre of a large
and airy house, and had to be led to
the fields when watered and exercised.
He was tied to this post when killed.
The post was about the size of an aver
age man’s body. It was splintered and
shattered completely by the lightning.
No other portion of the building wai
harmed. In no other place was there
the least evidence of a lightning stroke.
The shock of the bolt of lightning
was plainly felt, but it was not known
that any damage had been done until
an hour afterwards, when the Jersey
was found killed under the circum
stances described.
Lisgar St. Lambest was one of the
finest Jersey bulls in the world, being
so recognized by breeders all over the
country. Mr. Doughty purchased him
from the Phinizy farm when he was
two years old, and at that time the
bull brought four hundred dollars. At
the time of his death Lisgar St. Lam
bert was worth, it is thought, nearly a
thousand dollars.
The bull was known all over America.
The news of his death and the peculiar
circumstances thereof will be read with
keen interest.—Augusta (Ga.) Herald.
A Locomotive’s « Cough.”
The cough or puff of a railway en
gine is due to the abrupt emission oi
waste steam up the stack. AVhen mov
ing slowly the coughs can, of course,
be heard following each other quite
distinctly, but when speed is put on
the puffs come out one after the other
much more rapidly, and when eighteen
coughs a second are produced they
cannot be separately distinguished by
the ear. A locomotive running at the
rate of nearly seventy miles an hour
gives out twenty puffs of steam every
second—that ii, ton for each of its
two cylinders. —Detroit Free Press.
A colored boy at Macelenny, FJfk,
was chased up a tree by an alligator
the other day, where he was kept a
prisoner until help arrived. ___
BUDGET OF FUN.
HUMOROUS SKETCHES FROM
VARIOUS SOURCES.
An Emergency—A Financier—What
Doesn’t Bother Doctors—It Si
lenced Him—A Strain on
Patriotism, Etc.
ii never thought before
’ That I’d like to learn to shoot,
But I'm living now next door
To a man who plays the Hate.
—New York Herald.
A FINANCIER.
Hubby—“You’re worth a million to
me.”
Wifey—“Can I get an advance of
$25 on that million for a new hat?”—
Philadelphia Record.
WHAT doesn’t BOTHER DOCTORS.
Brush—“So you’re' going to give up
art and study medicine, eh?”
Pencil—“Yes, it is easier to be a
doctor; you don’t have to bother
about anatomy.”—Life.
In answer to his frantic appeals khe
could only bury her tsar-wet face upon
his shoulder and sob tumultuously.
After an hour or two, however, she
became sufficiently calm to be partially
coherent in her discourse.
“Edwin—”
Her countenance was full of agony,
as with the memory of a horrid dream.
“to-day, for the first time, I have
realized our poverty. For the first
time”—
A shudder convulsed her fragile
frame.
“I have felt the hand of penury at
my heartstrings.”
He stroked her throbbing temples
and murmured soothingly.
‘ ‘To-day, Edwin, ” she wailed, “there
came and stood in front of our humble
home one of those hand-organ men,
who play till you pay them something,
and, Edwin”—
She pressed her hand over her eves.
“I hadn’t a cent in the house.”
And the loving husband vowed that
she would never again suffer v at if he
had to steal for her.—Detroit Tribune.
Milk Instead of Medicine.
HISTORY AS SHE IS TAUGHT.
Teacher—“How many trips did Col
umbus make to the New AVorld?”
Boy—“Three, mum.”
Teacher—“And after which one of
these did he die ?”—Truth.
NO HAGGLING.
Young Man—“So Miss Ella is your
oldest sister? Who comes after her?”
Small Brother—“Nobody ain’t come
as yet; but pa says the first fellow that
comes can have her.”—Tit-Bits.
HARD ON A BOY.
Little Boy—“I guess papa must a-
been born growed up. ”
Uncle John—“Why so?”
Little Boy—“He’s always wantin’
me to do something sensible. ”—Good
News.
A STRAIN ON PATRIOTISM.
Home Comer— ‘ ‘What has become of
the Hon. Mr. Silvertongue, the great
American patriot?”
Host—“Oh, he got rich and bought
a castle in Enrope.” — New York
Weekly.
IT SILENCED HIM.
Mr. Sappy—“There’s nothing like
saying the right thing at the right
time. ”
She—“Yes; there’s keeping your
mouth shut when you have nothing to
say. ”—Truth.
THE MECHANICAL OSTRICH.
Susan—“Clocks is mighty modest,
Hiram. They keep their hands over
ther faces all the time. ”
Hiram—“So they do, Susan, but
they don’t hide their figgers.”—De
troit Free Press.
UNPROFESSIONAL.
Man of the House—“What are you
doing there?”
Tramp at the Back Door—“I ain’t
doin’nothin’. Don’t you know it’s un-
perfessional for us to do anything at
all?”—Detroit Free Press.
NOT A TENANT.
Neighbor—“Does your father rent
that house you live in ?”
Boy—“No, indeed. It’s his own
house, every bit of it. It’s been
bought and paid for, and insured and
mortgaged, and everything. ”—Good
News.
TRIES THE SOUL.
“I suppose it must take a great
deal of patience to get along in music
as your daughter has?”
Father—“Yes, it does; I have none
left. I just leave the house whenever
she begins to play.”—Chicago Inter-
Ocean.
TEMPORARILY—ALL THE YEAR.
Visitor—“Do you know that gentle
man who was talking to me a little
while ago ?”
Journalist—“You bet I know him to
my sorrow. You want to steer clear
of him. He is one of these fellows
who is temporarily embarrased for
money from one year’s end to the
other.”—Texas Siftings.
IMPORTANT ATTRIBUTE.
“Fewbites really thinks he will
sometimes become famous as a paint
er.”
“Has he talent?”
“No.”
“Why, then, does he think he’s an
artist?”
“Oh, he can get along on one meal
a day.”—Chicago Inter-Ocean.
SATISFACTORILY EXPLAINED.
“Henry,” she whispered, as though
fearful of the worst, “do you love me
less than a foitaight ago, when yon
brought me some flowers or sweets
every night?”
“No,- Evelina, no,” he answered,
“but payday is yet a week off, and I
generally get broke about the middle
of the month.”—Boston Globe.
THE YOUNG IDEA SHOOTS.
The Sister’s Beau—“So, Johnny,
you’re going to be a chemist like papa,
eh? And did you know this diamond
of mine was the same substance as
charcoal?”
Johnny—“No.”
T. S. B.—“And hasn’t papa told you
that?”
Johnny—“No. He said it was
paste.”—Life.
WHAT TO EXPECT.
The facetious man had built himself
a nice new house with a stone veranda
and a step up in front and took a
friend to look at it.
“Very nice; very nice, indeed,’’said
the friend, critically, “but it has such
a set look. Lacks expression, yon
know. ”
“Of course,” replied the owner,
“but what else could you expect from
a house with such a stony stair?” And
he sat down on the steps and laughed.
—Detroit Free Press.
BOTH OBLIGING.
He (the bridegroom, at the World’s
Fair)—“Do yon want to go to the Art
Building, dear?”
She (the bride)—“Do you?”
He—“I do, if you do.”
She—“If you do, I do, dear.”
He—“Just as you say.”
She—“Do, dear, take your choice.”
He—“Well, I don’t want to unless
you want to. ”
She—“I don’t want to unless you
want to.” (With solicitude) — “Do you
want to?”
He—“If you want to, dearest.”
She (timidly)—“Well, let’s go.”
He—“Are you sure you want to
go?”
She—“If you are.”
He (timidly)—“Well, let's go.”
(Exeunt absent-mindedly toward the
stock pavilion.)—New York Recorder.
A SAD STORY.
He found his wife in tears.
Wise physicians always prescribe a
diet instead of a drug for a patient
whenever his illness can be cured by
food alone. The food is one of the
most important factors in molding the
life of an individual; both the mind
and the body require it for their best
development. We too seldom realize
that much of our bodily discomforts
arise from having had an insufficiency
of nourishing food. We stoutly deny
being underfed when our doctor says,
“You need more food.” Six meals a
day would barely supply fuel enough
to keep the fire burning in the average
American woman or man of to-day!
The breadwinner of the family comes
home from his business at night too
tired, too nervous to eat. Very possi
bly he has not tasted food all day since
he ate a hasty breakfast of a roll and
a cup of coffee. Is it any wonder such
a man is irritable and soon becomes a
sufferer from nervous prostration?
The lack of and insufficiency of nutri
tions food puts a human being in a
condition to die of any complaint. It
is not the well-fed that die of con
sumption—it is they that have no time
for eating and resting. The healthiest
and longest lived are those that have
leisure enough to eat their meals and
do eat them. Food keeps the blood
vessels full of good blood—-disease
germs floating about cannot find a
lodging place in well-nourished per
sons.
Tempting, choice viands are not
within the reach of every purse, but
good, simple, wholesome food is. The
poorest man can afford to drink milk,
and milk contains every essential need
ful for the sustenance of vitality and
the restoration of lost powers. There
are so many ways of preparing milk,
either alone or in combination with
eggs, fresh ve ^etables, as in soups, etc.,
that one cannot exclaim at the monot
ony. First of all, try boiled milk,
bearing in mind that milk may be con
taminated, nnd that boiling effectually
ends the possibility of danger from it.
If cold milk is more grateful than hot,
drink it cold, taking care to have no
ice in direct contact with it. Put the
milk in bottles or kettles, and let these
be in contact with the ice. Cultivate
the habit of drinking eight or ten glass
of milk every day. If this is done, it
will be safe enough to omit meals oc
casionally. Milk does not seem to
agree with some few persons, and for
them three or four ounces daily of
cream will prove a most excellent food.
Hot milk is more effective in relieving
nervousness arid fatigue than any alco
holic preparation, and is far less ex
pensive. Many “incurable” maladies
may be put to flight by living on milk
diet. In ten days one will be improved,
and a few months will find health fully
restored.—Philadelphia Record.
About Irish Potatoes.
For nearly or quite a hundred years
after the American potato was intro
duced into the gardens of Great Brit
ain the Scotch and Irish peasant far
mers refused either to eat or cultivate
it for reasons which, at this time, seem
to be very absurd. At last, through
the force of circumstances, such as
short grain crops and threatened
famine, the peasants were induced to
try the formerly much despised tuber,
and the results were so satisfactory
that it immediately became so exceed
ingly popular that in derision it was
given the name of Irish potato. Pre
vious to this time it had been known
as the Virginia potato, through an er
ror of some one who claimed that it
had been found growing wild in Vir
ginia, where it was certainly unknown
to either the aborigines or European
settlers until introduced from South
America. The natives of the higher
regions of South America probably
discovered and cultivated the potato
in their gardens centuries before they
were visited by Europeans. Peter
Cierca informs us in his Chronicle
published in 1553, “that the inhabi
tants of Quito and vicinity have, be
sides maize, a tuberouB root, w*hich
they eat and call Papas. ” The Span
iards, having introduced these roots
into their own country, did not retain
the Peruvian name, but from their
similarity in nature to the sweet pota
to already in use called them battatas.
From Spain they were taken to Italy,
and in 1588 we find a German botanist
acknowledingthe receipt of two tubers.
It is true that we have a wild species
of the potato in North America, and
while it is very abundant in the ele
vated regions of Mexico and north
ward through Arizona and New Mexi
co, the tubers are so small that it does
not appear to / have ever been utilized
by the inhabitants of the country nor
any of the Indian tribes east of the
Mississippi. The oft-repeated story
that the colonists sent by Sir Walter
Raleigh to settle Virginia found the
potato in use among the Indians is a
pure mytp.— New York Sun.
Horses on Watch While Asleep.
Horses, when asleep, always have
one ear pointed to the front. Exactly
why, no human being can tell, but the
probability is that the practice is a
relic of the time when they were wild
and obliged to be on their guard, even
when asleep. Whether or not this is
the case, the fact is certain that while
cattle are apparently indifferent as to
the position of their ears when sleep
ing, and no matter how these append
ages may be placed both are pointed
alike, horses always point one ear for
ward. —New Orleans Times-Democrat.
It Rained Fish.
During a .heavy rain and electric
storm a shower of fish was precipita
ted on the street at Middlesborough,
Ky. They were of the sun perch
species, and ranged in length from one
and one-half to three inches. Several
picked up on Chamberlain avenue
measured four inches. Where they
came from is a mystery as the storm
came from the northwest over Canada
Mountain, the highest range surround
ing Middlesborough, and there are no
water couses near.-—Chicago Herald,
NEVER MIND IT.
Never mind the weather
An’ the bumin’ sun ;
Cold and hot together
Never yet did run.
When the sun is peltin
Fire from alof;
An’ yon think you're maltin’,
West wind cools you off1
No use in complainin'
When the fire drops ,
P'raps if it was rainin’,
Drown out all the crops!
Movin’ on together!
Tired? Stop to rest!
Good Lord runs the weather;
Givin’ us His best!
—Atlanta Constitution.
PITH AND POINT.
A chamber of horrors—The one
that has a folding-bed.
“Hot?” “Well, I should rejoice to
shiver!”—Puck’s Library.
A thin pocketbook is no place to
look for spare cash.—Truth.
Wife (to corpulent husband)—“Stand
just there and let me sit in the shade.”
—Humoristische Blaetter.
Many a man hides a good deal of
covert private interest under overt
public spirit.—Ram’s Horn.
Jagson says the only way to make
home attractive to our boys is to rent
it to some other family. —Elmira Ga
zette,
The iceman comes with his clanging tongs
And leaves me a fragment damp
I pack that chunk up the winding stair,
Wrapped up in a two-cent stamp.
—Washington New3.
The most unhappy people in the
world are those who are so well off that
they are always trembling at the
thought of loss and ruin.—Ram’s
Horn.
Physician (to bank president) —
“Your habits are too sedentary. Yon
should take more exercise.” Patient
—“How would a run on the bank do?”
—Buffalo Enquirer.
When nature made him brainless, ugly,
small,
She pitied one she had so badly treated,
And said, “He shall not miss my gifts at all,
I’ll make tho wretched little thing con
ceited.”
—Boston Transcript,
“Well, my fine little fellow, you
have got quite well again 1 I was sure
that the pills I left you would cure
yon. How did you take them, in water
or in cake ?” ‘ ‘Oh, I used them in my
popgun. ”—Tid-Bits.
I love to steal a while away
From every cumbering care
And take a Pullman sleeper
For Chicago and the Fair.
And when I’ve spent a week or two
And seen the sights so great,
I loveto steal a chance to ride
Home on on empty freight.
—Kansas City Journal.
The Bed ol the Atlantic.
Proceeding westward from the Irish
coast the ocean bed deepens very grad
ually ; in fact, for the first 230 miles
the gradient is but six feet to the mile.
In the next twenty miles, however, the
fall is over 9000 feet, and so precipi
tous is the sudden descent that in many
places depths of 1200 to 1600 fathoms
are encountered in very close proxim
ity to the 100-fathom line. With the
depth of 1800 to 2000 fathoms the sea
bed in this part of the Atlantic becomes
a slightly undulating plain, whose gra
dients are so light that they show but
little alteration of depth for 1200 miles.
The extraordinary flatness of these sub
marine prairies renders the familiar
simile of the basin rather inappro
priate. The hollow of the Atlantic is
not strictly a basin whose depth in
creases regularly toward the center; it
is described by the Nautical Magazine
as rather a saucer or dish-like one, so
even is the contour of its bed. The
greatest depth in the Atlantic has been
found some 100 miles to the northward
of the island of St. Thomas, where
soundings of 3875 fathoms were ob
tained. The seas round Great Britain
can hardly be regarded as forming part
of the Atlantic hollow. They are rather
a part of the platform banks of the
European continent which the ocean
has overflowed. An elevation of the
sea bed 100 fathoms would suffice to
lay bare the greatest part of the North
Sea, and join England to Denmark,
Holland, Belgium and France. A deep
channel of water would run down the
west coast of Norway, and with this
the majority of the fiords would be
connected. A great part of the Bay of
Biscay would disappear ; but Spain and
Portugal are but little removed from
the Atlantic depression. The 100-
Cathom line approaches very near the
west coast and soundings of 1000 fath
oms can be made within twenty miles
of Cape St. Vincent, and much greater
depths have been sounded at distances
bui little greater than this from the
western shores of the Iberian penin
sula. .
Wares Seventy Feet High.
The daily papers recorded the facts
that the steamship Majestic, on a recent
eastern trip, caught a sea that demol-
isned her crow’s-nest lookout, and that
the Teutonic, which caught the sama
gale coming west, had one sea which
combed over the crow’s nest and
carried away her forward port life
boat as it went over the rail. But
none of the daily papers took the
trouble to mention just how the crow’s
nest on these ships is situated, and
consequently how high that sea was.
Inquiry by a Marine Journal represen
tative discovered that while in men-of-
war and many other ships the custom
is to have the crow’s nest in the fore-
top or a trifle above, the White Star
3hips have it at an altitude of twenty-
five feet above the main deck on the
foremast, reached by an iron ladder
from the forward hurricane deck. In
such a ship as the Majestic or Teuton
ic the height of the main deck at the
forerigging is about forty feet above
the level of the sea, which would make
the height of the wave that carried
away the crow’s nest in this instance
about seventy feet. This is a pretty
big roller for the North Atlantic, but
in other parts of the ocean such waves
are often encountered in a storm.
Supposing the ship to have been in the
trough of the sea at the time this
wave swept her, the mean height of the
wave might be calculated as not greater
than forty feet, but it was certainly a
body of water nearly seventy feet high
from where the ship floated.
A N'ose 300 Feet Long.
There is a remarkable natural curios
ity on a small tributary of the Mo
hawk River, in Montgomery County,
New York, known all over New Eng
land as “Anthony’sNose. ” It is situatad
on the extremity of a mountain called
“the Klips,” and when viewed from
the river, at the entrance to the High
lands, has the perfect shape and gen
eral appearance of a human nose at
least 300 feet long! Opposite Fort
Montgomery, in Putham County, on
the east side of the Hudson River,
there is another nose-shaped projec
tion known to the frequenters of that
locality as “The Old Man’s Nasal Ap-
vsndage.”—bt. Louis Republic.
SILT RHEUM FIVE YEARS
In the form of a running
sore on my ankle, four
physicians failed to oure.
I then commenced tak
ing Hood's Sarsaparilla,
and using Hood's Olive
Ointment,and at the end
of two years I was com
pletely cured, and have
hal no trouble with it
sinoe.” Simeon Staples,
Bast Taunton, Mass. Remember,
HOOD’S SARSAPARILLA CURES.
Hood's Pills cure liver ills, jaundice, bilious-
ness, Sot headache and constipation. 25 cente.
Cures Scrofula
One of Esop’s Fables.
There was once a meddlesome young
boy who led himself up to a hive of
honest, busy bees to meddle some. He
stuck his stick into the gum, and
| thereby a meddlesome little bee built
! a fire on the end of the bad boy a
nose. Not satisfied with the first
round, he blows himself full of raga
; and strides forth to rile the bees one*
| more. His stick is thrust in a second
time, and all the swarm is stirred up
and rattled. Since the second, round
the bad boy has been out of bis head
and swollen. He is very fat, and
dreams that he is his sister’s pin cueh*
ion.
Mrs. E. J. Rowell, Me<lford, Mass., says her
mother has been cured of Scrofula by the*usoof
four bottles of JR.-IRS after having had
much other tre jgCRSjgSU atment, and being
reduced to qui w •■ te a low condition
of health, as it was thought sho could not live.
INHERITED SCROFULA.
Cured my little boy of hereditary
KKjftSM Scrofula, which appeared all over
his face. For a t ear I had given
up all hope of his recovery, when finally I was
induced to use A few bottles
cured him, and no symptoms of
the disease remain/^^>iRs7 T. L. Mathers,
Matherville, Miss.
Sura lo Make.
Chief Clerk— Here’s an order for a
bill of goods from a western man
whose name I ean’t find in the bptJt^T
but I guess he’s all right. He Bay*
he’ll pay for them next ‘round up.’ ”
Head of Firm—“Huh ! These cattle
men are just as likely to lose money as
to make it.”
Chief Clerk—“This isn’t a cattle
man. He’s an undertaker.”—New
York Weekly.
Our book on Blood and Skin Diseases mailed free.
SWIFT Sfecific Co.. Atlanta, Ga.
A Last Resort.
Growth During the Night.
It is a curious fact that night is the
time which nature utilizes for growth.
Plants grow much more in the night
than in the daytime, as can be proved
any time by measurement. Measure a
vine at night, then measure it again
in the morning and the next night,
and it will be fouud that the night
growth is two or three times that ac
complished during the day. During
the day the plant is very busy gather
ing nourishment from various sources,
and during the night this raw material
is assimilated into the plant life.
The same fact is true of the animal
creation. Children grow more rapidly
during the night. In the daytime,
while the child is awake and active,
the system is kept busy disposing of
the wastes consequent on this activity,
but during sleep the system is free to
extend its operations beyond the mere
replacing of wornout particles; hence
the rapid growth.
This is why so many invalids need
so much rest and sleep. The system
has been taxed for years beyond its
ability to repair the tissues, and hence
the organism has become worn and
disabled from the accumulation of
waste products, and disease has re-
Patron—“Do you intend to teach
your boy a trade?”
Artisan—No, he’s too infernal lazy
and good-for-nothing to make a living
at any trade I ever heard of. Guess I’ll
let him adopt some profession. ”
.Arounrd ami Regulated
By that purest and best of botanic alteratives.
Hostel ter's Stomach Bitters, a dormant liver
r news its secretive action and impels the
l.ile into the proper channels. Thin wvleome
change is accomplished by a di-appearaoce of
the ye low tinge of the skin and eyeba Is, un
easiness in the right side, const pation, morn
ing nausea, dizziness, lurred appearance of
the tongue, and sourness or the breath, which
accompany liver troubl-'. Rheuimc ism, dys
pepsia, malaria ami kidney complaint are
removed by the Bitiers.
“Speech is s : lver,*' perhaps because silver is
down in the mouth just now*.
For Dysp“psia, Indigestion and Stomach
disorder-, use Brown's Iron Bitters—the Best
Tonic. It rebuilds the Blood and Ptrengtheus
the musch-s. A splendid medicine lor weak
and debi.itated persons.
The man who is constant’y looking for a soft
thing may be a sured that his mother con
tributed one to the world.
Porn and Wholesome Quality
Commends to public approval the California
liquid laxative remedy, Syrup of Figs. It is
pleasant to the taste and by acting gently on
the kidney, liver and bowels to cleanse the sys
tem effectually, it promotes the health and
comfort of all who use it, and with millions it
is the best and only remedy.
suited.—Good Health.
A Trick About Ironing.
The Chinese laundryman knows a
little trick worth trying. Instead of
heating his iron just right for use he
heats it scorching hot; then he plnnges
it into cold water for an instant, which
cools the surface sufficiently to allow
him to make several effective passes,
the heat meantime gradually return
ing to the surface. If necessary he
repeats this two or three times till the
iron is of the right temperature to ply
its vocation uninterruptedly. This
saves the frequent changing of irons
of Bridget’s method.
Sensible at Last.
Aunt Waybaek—“IVhat kind of a
thing do you call that you’re wearing?
City Niece—“That’smy Eton jacket,
Aunty. ”
Aunt Waybaek—“Well, I must say
that’s sort of sensible. The front
folds back so you won’t drop the vit-
tels on it.”—New York Weekly.
Keep your temper, unless it is a bad one; if
so, lo-e it and forget to advertis) it.
For impure or thin Blood, Weakne-s, Mala
ria, Neuralgia, Indi 'estion and Biliousness,
take Brown's Iron Bi ters—ir gives strength,
making old pers"iis fe-1 young—and young
persons strong; pleasant to take.
A vicious man goes to the devil. An idle
man lets the devi com** to him.
$100 Reward. $100.
The reader of this paper will be pleased to
learn that them is at least one dreaded disease
that science baa been able to cure in all it*
stages, and that is Catarrh. Hall's Catarrh
Cure is the only positive cure known to tho
medical fraternity. Catarrh being a constitu
tional disease, requires a constitutional treat
ment. Hall's Catarrh Cure is taken internally,
acting directly on the b.ood an l mucous sur
faces of the system, there »y destroying tho
foundation of the disease, and giving the pa
tient strength by building up tho constitution
and assisting nature in doing its work. The
proprietors have so much faith in its curative
powers, that they offer One Hundred Do lari
for any case that it fails to cure. Send for list
of testimonials. Address /
F. J. Cheney & Co.,Toledo, O.'
|3F"Sold by Druggists, 75c.
We Core Rnpturo.
No matter of how long standing. Writ#
for free treatise, testimonials, etc., to J.
Hollenswortb & Co., Owego, Tioga Co., N. Y.
Price $1; by mail, $1.15.
Beecbarn’s Pills with a diinkof water morn
ings. BeechanTs—no other-. 25cts. a box.
The New Bread
As endorsed and recommended by
the New-York Health Authorities.
Royal Unfermented Bread is peptic, palatable, most
healthful, and may be eaten warm and fresh without
discomfort even by those of delicate digestion, which
is not true of bread made in any other way.
To make One Loaf of Royal Unfermented Bread:
i quart flour, I teaspoonful salt, half a teaspoonful sugar,
3 heaping teaspoonfuls Royal Baking Powder,* cold boiled
potato about the size of large hen’s egg, and water.
Sift together thoroughly flour, salt, sugar, and baking powder; rub in the
potato; add sufficient water to mix smoothly and rapidly into a stiff batter,
about as soft as for pound-cake; about a pint of water to a quart of flour will
be required—more or less, according to the brand and quality of the flour
used. Do not make a stiff dough, like yeast bread. Pour the batter into a
greased pan, 4 by 8 inches, and 4 inches deep, filling about half full. The
loaf will rise to fill the pan when baked. Bake in very hot oven 45 minutes,,
placing paper over first 15 minutes' baking, to prevent crusting too soon on
top. Bake immediately after mixing. Do not mix with milk.
* Perfect success curt be had only with the Royal Baking Powder, because it is the
only fowder in which the ingredients are prepared so as to give that continuous
action necessary to raise the larger bread loaf.
K * *
The best baking powder made is, as shown by analy
sis, the “Royal.” Its leavening strength has been found
superior to other baking powders, and, as far as I know,
it is the only powder which will raise large bread perfectly.
Cyrus Edson, M. D.
Com’r of Health, New-York City.
Breadmakers using this receipt who will write the result
of their experience will receive, free, the most practical cook
book published, containing 1000 receipts for all kinds of
cooking. Address
ROYAL BAKING POWDER CO., 106 WALL 8T., NEW-YORK.
“German
Syrup”
Boschee’s German Syrup is more
successful in the treatment of Con
sumption than any other remedy
prescribed. It has been tried under
every variety of climate. In the
bleak, bitter North, in damp New
England, in the fickle Middle States,
in the hot, moist South—every
where. It has been in demand by
every nationality. It has been em
ployed in every stage of Consump
tion. In brief it has been used
by millions and its the only true and
reliable Consumption Remedy. &
MEND YOUR OWN HARNESS
with
THOIYISQN'Sf®§l
CLINCH RIVETS.
No tool! reqnir«L Only » liamnwr nwded to dilr.
in 1 c Inch Ou-'m ea»ily uni quickly, leaving lie clinch
■ bao.atelr who.)th. inquiring no ho e to bo mid* Is
lbeleilher nor Harr lor tnc Rivet*. They ire itrong,
lonit. end darwblp. JDUton. now ta u*. Al
lenvthi. uniform or emorted. pat op In Doxee.
joer dealer for them, or send 40c. ta
(tamps for a box of 100, assorted uses. Man’fd by
JUDSON L. THOMSON MFG. CO.,
WALTIUa, -HASS.
S^TideaTfamIly medicine
IFor Indigestion. BUIouenes*.
= Headache, Constipation, Hud
I Complexion, OffemdveBreath,
land all disorders of the Stomach,
= Liver and Bowels,
I RIPANS TABULE3
= act gently yet promptly. Perffcn. u
■ digestion follows their use. Bold
? by druggists or sent by mall. Box
l (5 vials), 75c. Package (4 boxes), $2. f
I For free samples-addre«s _ _ « 5
s »IPA>A CHEMICAL CO.,J
Stove Pqush
[ Do Hot Be Deceived
I with Pastes, Enamels and Paints which stain the I
I hands. Injure the Iron and horn red.
The Rising Sun Stove Polish Is Brilliant, Odor-
or glass package with every j
NCER Cored Permanently
n(. nllBEN SEND for FRF-E Circular.
PC bUntDj.X.Klein,Bellevliu,-N.J.
CANCER
CURED WITHOUT THE KNIFE
Or use of painful, burning poisonous plas
ters. Cancers exclusively trea;ed. Dr.
P. B. Green’s Sanatorium, Fort Payne, Ala.
iL^IUSLn
Consumptive* and people
who have weak lungs or Asth
ma, should use Piso's Cure for
Consumption. It has eared
thoaifends. it has not injur
ed one. It is not bad to take.
It is the best coagh syrup.
Sold everrwhere. ZSc.
-T.rmnmbi
A. N. D Thirty-four, ’93.