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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.