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A 01 "On Ambition is to matte a tesas Work, Reliable in its VOL. 1. All the training schools for nurses in >hiladelphia are free. This is one pro ession for women that is not over •jowded and where women can earn good vages. The chief qualifications are rood health, good temper, general Intel igence, and a fair common-school edu :ation. London appears to be much bettei 5xed in the matter of school aecommoda dons than most of the large cities on this fide of the Atlantic. At the recent re issembling of the School Board the Chairman, the Rev. J. B. Diggle, stated that there are now facilities in London for teaching 657,337 children, while there are only 633,058 names on the school-rolls._ __ The AYashoe Indians, male and female are said to be good workers, but they are extremely sensitive. Tell an Indian to cut your wood and he'll turn disdain fully away. Impart to him, in a casual way, that yon have wood to cut, and wonder who’ll do it at such a price, and the noble red man, with an air of con* ferriug a favor, intimates that he will, and he does. The Southern California Motor Road Company has a scheme for giving the citizens of San Bernardino lots of fun this winter. It will run a road up to the Hear Valley reservoir, which is 6,000 feet above the sea. Ice forms there in the winter, and the road will take up skating parties, which can leave town ti in the evening, run up in two hours, have three hours’ fun, and get back about J o’clock the next morning. The Rev. Russell H. Conwcll, a gradu ate of Yale, a soldier, lawyer, emig.uion agent, special correspondent in Europe, lecturer, author, and, last of all, Baptist preacher, is to have the largest Baptist Church in the country. It is to be built at Philadelphia, will seat 4,600, cost #100,000,have accommodations for 1,(100 scholars in the Sunday-school room, and 500 in the infant department, and have dining-room, kitchen and parlors. Air, Conweil is forty-four years old. A New Y'ork man says that the great drawback to electric street railways is that you cannot ride even a block on one ol those cars without having your watch completely magnetized and ruined so fai as timekeeping is concerned. All the electric roads have Ihe tame difficulty, and the inventors, although they have been trying for years, have not yet sue needed in discovering a remedy. Until that defect is removed, no electric street railway, it is asserted, will be a success. Chief Drummond, of the United States Secret Service, in reporting on a band of Italian counterfeiters now operating in this country, has called attention to the existence of a formidable secret organiza tion originating in Sicily, but having branches in New Y'ork, Boston, Chicago, St. Louis, St. Paul, San Francisco and several other cities. The members of this society arc described as assassins and villains of the worst type, engaged in all sorts of criminal schemes, but especially in the counterfeiting business. R. YV. Cameron & Co., of New York City, who are agents for the Government of South Wales, have received a commu nication announcing a reward offered by the Government of #125,000 to American inventors for any process which will exterminate rabbits, which have become a pest throughout Australia and New Zealand. In 1864 a few English rabbits were introduced iuto the Botanical Garden at Dunedin. These have in SUlh an ext{ ‘ nt that thp y are now now public hr nuisances, threatening . to de stroy not only all the vegetables, but even the sheep pasturage of the entire countrv The 1 Ze magnitude magnitude of ol the t itewiand evil and toe,, .,;. gency of the case are indicated by the size of the reward,which, at the same time, is an expression of confidence in American ingenuity. — ----—-- Tnr The Sanitary Era r . warns parents . and -, Ivi™™ TA chddrens’ cars, saying: “ibeie ought to be a statute in every state severely punishing this prac tice or rather an infliction of b'ows on school! the head «o common in families or schools Of f inferior f grade. i A a recent in vestigation of medical records reveals firty-one firtv cases of serious injury to . eh,l- ... -*.h. ear—m some cases chronic and ultimately resulting in fatal brain diseases, deafness, insanity, etc. It would be impossible to discipline all offenders, but much might be done by sps. ial car ’ in giving notice of the law and penalty through the news papers and by circulars distributed by boards of health inspectors, and by in structions to the police promptly to ar rest parents or others seen cuffing ehil 'Iren—a« they may be seen at all hours of the day in certain '8 reeions of everv 3 " eilv y ’ ” GRAY’S STATION, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, JANUARY 81. 1888. INFLUENCE. m;rerrl And we die, too, « with r our ,,„„„„„ dead days: New hopes, new dreams, new memories rise On our new lives, in life's new ways. Eut pure, sweet influence never dies; That still lives on, where all decays; As from dead stars, through altered skies, Stream on all but eternal rays! Wilfred Wbotlani. IN MY DARKEST HOUR. BY patience stapt.F. roN. I had worked so long in the dry goods store of Jones & Jones that when, Christmas morning, I got a letter saying that my services were no longer required I nearly fainted away. I know I am not quick or attractive. I am a small, scared worked looking woman of forty, and I have so hard all mv life that I look much older. I lost m'v little savings in the failure of a bank, and since then I have had no ambition to look well or to be cheerful. When I went back to my postman’s' third-story room—for I ran down at the kindred might knock, thinking some of my have remembered me—I had a faint feeling of pleasurable excite meat. The firm had remembered me, I thought, and when I saw their letter head, sent me a remembrance. “ I have lived too long," I said, when I read their letter. I could not think of another sen tence, and the words haunted me. Sly landlady was kind, but she was poor, and her rent was high, and I must give up my little room that from long occupancy I had grown to look upon as a home, l'stood in the door and looked about me—at the worn carpet, theshabby that furniture, the little old rocking chair my few visitors used to say had a quaint had likeness to myself, the stove where 1 cooked my frugal breakfast and supper so many years, my bird twittering in liis cage over my geraniums in the sunny window—the plants all in bios som now and so beautiful—my few books and pictures and the gray cat purring by the tire. I saw my trunk in its chintz cover, and I wondered when I must pack it and where it would go. I had borne up and well, but now I sat down on the floor wept bitterly. Jane?” “Kin I come in, Miss I jumped to my feet in shame. The child must not see me crying on Christ stood hiayday. I opened the door and there of Betty, landlady-—‘‘Betty the orphan granddaughter lodgers my Prim,” the called her. She was a pale little thing, fasliioncd with big gray eyes and old long curls that one never sees on children nowadays, She was lame from a fall in baby-hood and walked w ith a crutch. She never seemed to note her misfortune, but, like my canary, was 'ull of song and sunshine, “Gammasays-if you don’t want me, send me down. She’s goin’ ter church ”n’ it’s pretty lonesome an’ you wasn’t Doin’ out. I'll try to be real quiet.” “You couldn’t be otherwise,” I said, and I got her a chair. Of course she took the cat in her lap—she always petted something—and then she told me how many gifts she had and how the white aprons I made her were the best of all, for they were so pretty and “such a sav ing to her dresses.” She had given me a neat little tidy that she had made her self, and she looked at it now, pinned on my chair, with visible satisfaction. “There was some stitches dropped, but I’m so glad they don’t show,” she said, happily. “Miss Jane,” she asked, after by a long pause, trouble, during which I, stunned my great sat and looked at nothing, ain’t “you’re like me, I guess; you got many folks.” I came back with a start to tell her I had eight brpthers and sisters that I had not California, seen for thirty years. They were in I in Boston. I was the oldest, and a family had taken me when 1 was nine years old, for my father was so poor lie could not keep his children to gether. “Tell me ’bout ’em liev’e. ” she said “that is if you’d jest as Iguessyou’ve ’that’s got the megrims ter-day; what Mis’ Morrison has that lives in the second floor front. She says a^bite. she 6 gits rnwrims so bad she can’t eat I get Tin my self, but J don’t tell no one, for I’ve got ter keep Gamma cheered up. She gets so down when the rooms is empty or some don’t her.” ' one nay The dear little soul at seven concealing ! her own childish troubles to make life brighter for others' So I went on and told her of my childhood and how, poor a « we were, we children remembered each other a t birthday and Christmas time, ! making giving gifts out of a scanty store and up to a younger brother or sistev cherished playthings, and how my most happy dolls rememberance bad was the giving the paper I laboriously saved and cut out from the few fashion plates that ever invaded our home to a little sister, I remember one Christmas day though when I had no gilts. -In September father and the family moved away to Die Westin a big white covered wagon drawn ® ld oxen, and 1, crying • and begging to go with them, was . taken m a cart to Aunt Beach’s, who \ lived forty miles from my old home. was only nine years old, but to this day j reme mber the scene, the strange wagon. fc ,. r . .11 ,h«: tn hay good-bve, the and children envying peeping wide-eyed at the tent curtains my Wttle brothers and sisters who were going away, our empty dismantl 'd home and mother He crying w.th over my brother and died and me. was left- a cousin two years afterward. At Beach’s there were three little children, and I took care of j \ them thought and they helped treated about the kindly, house. and They me I never was love whipped and affection. or abused, Christ- hut starved for At mas time there was r.ot even a mention of | ,he , da -“ no gifts .. Beach dot sawed good . dinner. wood recollect Lncle all day, and we bad corned beef for dinner. CKHIItTY ; ' Si ftfi yvW..... » y ’ __ ■» ISMAIL] i 1 There was no merrymaking nor holiday and Airs. Beach burned them up, for they made a litter. • Next to the Beach farm was a beauti ful old place where Sirs. Hannah. Allen lived. She ami the Beaches had a hitter quarrel over a fence line, and if we children ever got on her land we were chased Off by a cross old gardener. Her liiecd, SlisS Eliza* was tigly And cross, and seemed to be scolding all the time* but the old lady was kind and gentle, Sometimes When I stole out into the rOad to look at her fibwers she called me to the fence and gave me some—hollyhocks and roses, but mostly great peonies, red. white and pink, that filled my whole hand. I never told the Beaches of my visits to Mrs. Allen’s fence, and I hid my flowers up in the hayloft in the one place where the children couldn’t climb, Sometimes Sir-. Allen gave me apples ancl P caI ’ s , which I shared with the chil dren, but they told on me and I was pun is hed for going near Allen’s. Often in our sto'en interviews Sliss Eliza would cal1 her aunt or come out and tell Iter not ta 'h to that little beggar and half drag her away. I remember there were bther nieces, too, tall Women with heavy black uard eyebrows, about the and they old seemed lady, and like a g poor to come f he moment Sliss Eliza went away ^ Allen or a day or so. But for all lhat Sirs, and I had many talks over the fence—for she never asked me in—and I told her about myself and my unhappy life and she said her own childhood was raac h die same and leaned over the f °nce to pat my head, telling me I would r: °me out all right some day, and I saw ber eyes were full of tears. 1 can see her yet, a little, straight figure in . a black gown, a lace kerchief pinned about her neck with a brooch of George Washington, small shoulder shawl over this, a white lace cap over a brown frock, bright led cheeks blue the eyes, and on her soft wrink temembet her coming prettiest pink flush. I with a big red peony fclu and pushing Eliza it hurriedly through the '° before saw her. She told meonee|that me—prettier, long years past she bad a lit tle S' 1 '! bke she added, but a gentle little thing, and she and her father* Captain Alleii, nearly the gravestone said, had been buried fifty years, In one of my tramps across her land I found the small walled-in graveyard,'whore they were buried and read the slate tomb stones, and remember I flung myself on Die ground beside them and wept bit terly that they were dead. A pitiful lit tle mourner, but my grief was very true and real. Once Mrs. Allen handed' me a piece of pretty flowered silk, telling me it was a scrap of her wedding gown, and how I treasured that! The Christmas day I was going to tell you about was when I was ten years old. After dinner the Beaches had taken the children and gone to a funeral in the village, leaving and me alone in the house. 1 saw Miss Eliza the hired, man drive away to the same funeral—some farmer door, everybody hid knew—and then I locked the they key under Die mat and crept out to the road. No one insight! I went along in the snow, a shawl over my head, though the air was fearfully cold, and in roy shivering hands I held something wrapped in my cleanest apron. The big, white house with the pillars in front like a church was silent and lifeless. The flowers were dead and I had not seen Mrs. Allen all winter. I opened first time.in the hall life door stood softly and for the Thu hall, with my the pictures, on a carpet, wind the ing stairs, like fairyland the oak chairs and the carpet, was right behind to me. I listened; to the one of the brass knobbed doors 1 heard the crackling of a wood fire. 1 opened the door softly and went in. Mrs. Allen was sitting before an open five of big logs all sur rounded by brass fenders and shining andiions, and this room had a soft floor, too, and beautiful pictures and furniture, Nhe was knitting, an open Bible on the table near her. “Why, she little girl, how you scared me!” said. stammered. “I—I’ve brought you a Chris’mus,” I “You was kind tome; I W) »nted to thank you for the flowers an’ there isn’t any Chris’mus over ter Beach’s. It’s all go, honest, for Mis’ Death give me the kaliker an’ the silk yonrn. J give it back to you though the silk was yourn an’ I set a store by it, hut us Rices always gives up our best things for presents.’ I took out of my apron a queer little pincushion, the top made of her silk, the bottom of the calico. I had filled it with Dm i h ane t feathers 1 could find from fhe dead chickens and hone,and oh! how painfully I had sewed every stitch with a rusty needle and rotten lliroad. She laid her spectacles off to wi pc here. .* and kissed me twice. I hen she put the eush ion carefully in the drawee of an old desk, smoothing i, and p.tling it into Mn.pc first. Then she brought me a f the best cake I ever ate After a few moments,during which she hid been looking at a gilt . lock under a glass shade on the mantel she put a shawl over her head and went up stain. Mm can tinned me not to touch anything and not leave my chair, but she knew f was well behaved and f needn’t I « afraid of Miss Eliza, for she would not come for lln'-, hour,. So . ... .11 .loo- i„ enchanted room for a long, long time. I got up once and put a stick of wood on the fire and remember I swept up the ashes I made on the hearth with a little brush hanging near and trembled at my daring. I told her when she came back, but she only said “Good child.” It must have been cold up stairs where I had red heard and her trembling. walking, for She her hands were warmed them at the fire and then held out a prefc ty shell. “Would you like that, little Jane?” carefully. 1 looked at “I it would," wistfully,holding I it rery oughter answered, “but 1 would feel I give it to the ? ❖ *3 <V Statwawts, eaoHfl in its CawtatoK, and Jwt in its TSenrs." Beaches nest Chris’mus an’ they would jest tiie same." My lips quivered as T gave it back. ' “Poor Jane," she smiled. “Well, here's a dell I made you when I was up stairs." fie handed me a big rag doll half as large as myself. It was hurriedly chalk, dressed and smirched, the 'face, made with blue was “I Want you to keep that always, "said MrS. Allen'. “Dou’t let the children have it. t put old rags On it so Sirs. Beach would hot take it away from you. aini Hide it in your plafce in the hay-loft, if you bring and it nice to me next Christmas to-day—mind day as clean as it is you do not hurt nor soil a speck—you shall have a gold dollar for your own.” Ah, how pleased I was! The Beach children hatred rag dolls. They had wooden ones, bought at the stores, so this treasure T could keep. Up in the haymow I could have a friend and conti i daiit. I thanked Sirs. Allen and she kissed me again and held the door open till I was safe across the dark hall. Then I ran home, hid my treasure away up in a far corner of the old burn, where it stayed unmolested, for only I could crawl out on the narrow beam to the place Where a piece of timber protruded and made my perch. I covered my pet with ; hay and visited her whenever 1 could get j ! a chance, and I think I was happier for her to talk to. “Didn’t she get dirty none?" asked Betty with deep interest., “No, for the I was very careful; but I never died got gold dollar. Dear Sirs, Allen that Spring and the nieces took the house, so I dared not go near the fence even. But the peonies bloomed every people year, her love remembering and ' I often better visited than care. the graveyard then and read her tomb stone, and cried over my only friend, and I called my doll Sirs, Captain, thinking that, -‘Have at least, was no her disrespect, you got yet?” asked Betty, “I never saw a rag doll.” “Yes, J kept her in remembrance of iriy sad childhood. Sits. Captain is so big and clumsy she has been often a bother, but 1 could not bear to destroy her You, Betty, are the only one who has ever seen her.” trunk, Sirs. Captain she lay at the bottom of my where just fitted. 1 never had so many clothes that she was in the way She was quite shapeless now, her calico dress faded to a dirty white, her face a blank and the stitches hastily put in by the trembling fingers of my old I friend rottenJ*nd ripping out. she “It’s held a it funny looking thing," said critical Betty, as up, at it ly. “I could make a better one myself; but she was hurried, you know, llow’fraid you must have been wheu you are waitin’, for Miss Eliza might come. Makes my arms just ache to this hold her; roiled thought stick”, they was rags; is on a Did you ever look?” children; “No; I besides, never I destroyed like some was told to keep her nice.” “If you don’t care, an’can spare a few rags. I’ll cut a pattern out by this doll; it will save Gamma buyin’, an’ truly I never had dolls enuff, though I wouldn’t have her flunk so for the world.” Forgetting my own troubles in her pleasure, I turned to my trunk to find some pieces. rolled Suddenly something dropped and with a metallic sound on the oilcloth under the stove, “Look, Miss Jane!” screamed Miss Betty, “that funny little coin fell out of the doll.’’ She reached for it with her crutch, 1 picked it up—a gold dollar of the dute forty years back, “In the it doll dropped 1” I gasped, stood her “Y'es, out when I up straight. I guess the old lady meant it fora s’prise.” Trembling with hope and fear I got my scissors. “1 am going to see how the doll is made,” I said with a queer kind of a laugh, and I felt strangely dizzy. It was rolled tight ripped and seamed the at top and bottom. I open top where there was a stitch broken, After the thickness of calico there were layers of linen, and finally 1 dug my scissors leather. deep A ripping into what sound, seemed then chink, like clink, and little and large,’ gold pieces went sparkling all over the oilcloth. A bright the ray window of sunlight came streaming gold, into glinting on the and my little’prisoned melody bird mirth. burst into a very torrent of and “Oh! oh! oh!” screamed Betty, “it’s money, money, money! bird, “Money,money, money,” sangmy smelled while my gray cat supicioitsly of a stray coin near her resting place. Rcverendly I unwound the rags. At I dared not even claim the gold. the very heart of the doll was a faded letter. In dim ink and faded lines I read: To little Jane Rice, or to any honest man or woman who may mid this s teret: •»<««« >V> <’'•«•» ««’> W she bring. what is inT 'die bSl Tta/wm" shl . may keep the .loll in remembrance, for she is a loving child, and som- day, when o-Wovidenco tjtittorbor. if Jane should di-%ive i? m a home for orphan children. 1 darn not leave the money in a will, for they would moke me mi*. cra>y, and there would I* lawinv. which 'dread, so I leave i,h:V tor her trusting to tried to repay the Christmas gift, the little gift of self-denial and gratitude. Hannah Atm “Don’t erv,” said Betty. “Dear Miss Jane, laugh, We you are rich. You never. work in .he store; you can be a lady, you .•an,’’'in a rapturous outburst (her ideaof wealth and felicity), “You car have the parlor bedroom ! Then you can own a farm, with cows an’ a horse an’chickens an’ dorgs—no, for them would hurt your cats—an’ lots of lovely things, an’ I’ll sew the doll right up again so you’ll never know she was busted.”. My landlady was looking on in amaze- fnent—she had come in so quietly I bad not heard her. When I told her this she ! sat down on the floor and began to count [ the money. ! “1 believe Jane l?ieC there is a thou more. I’ve got four thousand dollars saved, an’ if you wan ter, you an’ Betty an’me will buy that farm site Was pic turin’an’spend little the rest of our ritiyr will be in some town where folks neighborly." “That is dream life,” 1 the of my cried, “and I know we can raise fruits and flowers to help us out.” “It was all the;story,” said Betty: “we neverWould a-knowed.’’’ “This was the' time for her to knew,” said Gdrama, gently—“in her darkest hour.” It was so—the bread had come bark from the waters, and Mrs. Captain Allen had hundredfold. repaid the gift of a loving child red a I shall grow peonies, and white, in memory of her when our home, where folks shall he neighborly, is realized, and I shall try to bring sun shine and happiness into the lives of other sad little children as she brought kindness and joy into mine .—Now York Mercury . Pen id Oysters, The business Of getting the pear’s out of oysters is a tolerably disagreeable quo. The oysters are thrown into large vessels and left to die, when the shells open of their own accord. The shells arc then removed, left but thq oysters themselves are in buckets till they become decom posed, pearls when sink they are well stirred. and The mainder to the bottom, be the readily re is poured oil. It may inferred that the odor in the camp of pearl pleasant. seekers is more powerful than The pearl has its origin in the efforts of the oyster to protect itself from the irri tation caused by the presence of some foreign body between the shell and its mantle, as the soft skin of Die oyster is technically termed. To mitigate tliesuf. fering caused by this vexations intruder, the oyster deposits thereon a coating of Die same material as that of which the shell is composed, and When once this process has begun, it continues, till in time the pearl grows large enough to kill the oyster. To the fanciful minds of Oriental nations no such crude explanation has ever occurred, and they still attribute to pearls much they more poetic origin. The oysters, say, rise by night to the surface of the water, and opening their shells, receive therein a single drop of dew. This in time becomes a pearl, and if the dew has been pure and clear, the pearl wi 1 be a beautiful one; but if the drop purities, of dew then lias been soiled with im the pearl will be opaque and of no value. f innatis, the “father of naturalists,” received the honor of knighthood for demonstrating ficially inducing the possibility of pearls arti the formation of in the pearl-bearing mussel. But, as lias been the case with other European inven tions of which we have thought a good deal, it has since turned out that John Chinaman lias been doing this thing for a couple of thousand years or so. The Chinese method is to take the mussel from the river, carefully force the shells a little way apart, and insert between the mantle of the oyster and one of the shells a few little pellets of clay, tiny pearls or foreign bodies of some kind. When this has been done, the oyster is turned over, and similar the poor uncomfortable fellow is obliged to submit to a process on ids other side, lie is then put back into a pond, where nourishing ho is kept than well and fat by a diet more nice. After a few months, or sometimes his a year or two, he is again taken from bed, his pearls are taken out, and he is eaten. A Chinese Hospital. In , one of „ the inost . i rinvded , , lliorougli- ,, , , 0 Chinese quarter of .shanghai lhe « , ‘ as s t 0, ,(i fo r {orl Y y«a« « »«’« native hospital, . . ) , mainly . , supported by the Lu>op<*« a —i.n.i.y. \ crystrange its wards look at, fust to Lnghsh visitors. tons', j ist'ingof ting jf a ■!^teunhoo bam mat i a and whi’w it w.i td'i'vd I xd r'Lw > « X n^l J^embul^'flho’c 'Tioi led wlni e su ueo, dis ^ nnn,! ..hrisGinf Ti liiini f hos^.S i.iD.itv y <JUS u h 1 D hospital an I Yr-irlv'aljoiiTsOfl . Tt-Lul «; llf mtlentsmuw i-o i£ 'j. ’ j‘ , p , .,1 i f s . .. . } . * s : x > ilIK i .V;.,, I, ' v m ,. r „ u, ar , - mttliv ‘ ot the | j 'oil ; . i .*J ihuir ’ far homes manv ,/ a j tp'anbodilv j } s ( . , n .j e( j w'bHicvc n . : itc r hcalin- for Iliad | nowhere at home or abroad, could lustier Cn , i bll ,i„. <i, un „i,.,: ' l.edical ta I nf e - of combinin and Gospel work. Daily crowded Die waitin'' 7 room, seated for::««(. is with nc „ W0In ,. n .,,,,1 children i„ n „ before the dispensing silnarv, hour, and daily an English mi as conv-rsan- with their language as'his own. -t- before this waiting .7 multitude th" word of life b „| i( , v0 ” wl -ite S a Christian i.livsician who , to , some yG.mha-1 . , ., he ,m- -, -g , .to . «!iS knowiedge than any other nation in the world ’ I" an institution like this , flail un(1( . r a gm „, physician ra!tv the blind re t ire siuht quire/. the deaf ' the Unt/tm hra r , amc waik . How Hr Helped. •* We children played church to day— What We’d quite a congrStation.” take'" I asked, “ part did </O" With smile of approbation. “ 1 could He said, not sing, slow 1 reflection; could n ot preach,” in “ m tali you now I helped, papa I took up Die collection. —Frank H. Stauffer, in Bo ear. NO. II. A SNOW PICTURE. The snow! Th’ unpitying, ceaseless snow! whole nig bt through, the whole day j anrt drifted dow „, v .ard-Ml -p-r- ........ souls. And ever, every**, it falls and drifts 0 er town and Held,oer hill and valley,till Is covered deep with its white purity Till even it doth seem as if the Lord, Bad cast the mantle of his pity O’er s» the world, with all Its crime And sin and stain! The trees are bleak and bare, wnh searching arms Uplifted to the sky in mtfto appeal Against the weary burden, White and cold, Upon them. Deep hid rests the earth Beneath « pure, white coverlid, ail'd nil Tin 1 country road lies half-impassable, Beneath a dull and leaden sky, Across whose dreary, dismal face, The countless snow-flakes, like a swarm Of white' beef, ever downward sail In silent showers. •—Alexander iV. Dc Menib PITH AND POINT. A land grabber—A steam shovel. “I sec you keep your business to your self.” “Yes; it wouldn’t he mine if I didn’t .”—Bouton Gait tte. All great men arc attentive listeners. Many of them acquire the habit by being married ,—SomcrciUe ■/ /« rnal. The midnight scranader’a come Ills ballad wiki to tame, And though old boots around him hum He’ll guitar just the hi me. —Oevelnna Sun. AVhen a man attempts to warm his hands over a hotel register it is high time to inquire into his mental condition.— Hotel Mail. girl Away found with superstition. four-leaf A clovers Michigan and lias 2,155 isn’t married yet. An Omaha girl who found , it how to make pumpkin pie World. was married in three months.— Omaha Wife (who has had expression her photograph about taken)—“I think the the mouth,. John, is too firm.” Husband *—“A trifle, jievlUips, but it was shut, probably an effort «for you to keep it my dear ,”—New York Sim. With mu' digits growing numb To the core, We believe that winter’s cow As of yore; And we delicately toy With o joEviet, street etty. As we “Close hear the otlice door!” boy: dat —Ter as Siftings. “There, now,” sad Mrs. Dookin, “Susan B. Anthony says she can pick out a great woman for every great man the world has produced.” Mr. Dookin did not reply, but went out, and sat on the saw-buck and wondered why Miss Anthony didn’t pick one out for him.— Ghicof/o News. Britisher “And have you any—aw— p, 1 \vk in Ciuclnnaughty like Hyde Fawk, y« know?’* Miss Bacon—“Any pork! VYell, in good, round fat numbers, I should say about 50,000 to the square mile.” Britisher -“Fifty thousand square miles of pawk? By jove, now you really surprise me, Miss Bacon.”— Har per's Baiter. Dogs With the “Rallies!” A Philadelphia dog doctor says, in the Times of that city: “Hydrophobia much is an incurable disease. Of late years has been said and written about this, and I have read many comments that, my experience fells me are wrong. I be lieve it is a disease of the brain which has its origin in the teeth. The disease, however, is hundreds not near as prevalent dogs as some been think, and of have killed through ignorance. the A dog may get, the and toothache just decayed, same ns the it man, if the tooth is or nerve affected, a secretion is formed in the gums. The pain sets the dogcrazy, several and he will mope around for days and want to keep to himself. Tbo dog’s mouth is filled with minute blood vessels, and the secretion formed gets into these vessels and contaminates the blood. All this time the dog is think ing only of the pain, arid it linully be comes so acute as to destroy his reason, and he becomes crazy, or rabid, as it is called. this When he his is blood dangerous, is poisoned and by is secretion liable to contaminate wound others, no matter dog is bow slight, the is. If a really mad, or shows any sign of the dis ease, the only safe wav is to kill him as quickly and painlessly as possible. Ghost-Ifminted Ships. Ghost haunted ships were of all thing* those which the sailor regarded with most terror, and it is not many years since that an account was published of some sailors who refused to serve on board a British man oi-uar because, as they said, there was a ghost aboard.’ When pressed to give a reason for their belief they -.iiid they smelled him. One night, however, they said in a state had of genuine only terror, they not and smelled but seen the ghost—aye, heard it, too, behind some beer barrels, and ihey would rather s.vim than remain aboard. The captain, however, ordered them to be put in irons until they were well out at sea and then flogged. After that he heard nothing more of the ghost. Ships thus haunted were not only doomed to perish, in the belief of sailors, but tl.eir very presence brought danger decayed to all who looked upon them. The hulls of vessels reputed to be haunted would drive the fisher folk on some of the Scotch and Irish Coasts from the most promising bays, and no one would venture even to bathe near them, such wild unreasonable terror did they provoke.— h,nhw. Te!e<jraph. .Most great works are accomplished slowly. The best of prophets of thf» future is the past.