Newspaper Page Text
Fitzgerald Leader.
FITZGERALD, GEORGIA.
—PUBLISHED BT—
KNAPP dh SOW.
Secretary Wilson will ask Congress
to provide for agricultural at¬
taches to several of tho foreign lega¬
tions. It is thought that by having
attached to some of out foreign offioes
bright young men from tho agricul¬
tural colleges much valuable informa¬
tion may be collected.
The claim was made by a New York
man that he has kissing and hugging
fits, when he finds it impossible to
resist the temptation to hug and ‘kiss
any good looking woman who comes
his way. Tfio police magistrate in¬
formed him -\liat he would make the
assessment 310 a fit, and he had to
pay for one on the spot. There has
been none since.
According to recent statistics,. the
number of conversations carried on
over the telephone in the United
States is fixed in round numbers at
75,000,000; of telegraphic messages,
65,000,000; of arc lights, 1,000,000; of
incandescent, 15,000,000, aud several
hundred thousand electric motors.
There are 1000 electric railways. It
is estimated that to 2,500,000 persons
in this country electricity contributes
a means of livelihood.
One of the features of German
economics which constantly furnish
recruits to the socialistic ranks is the
gradual disappearance of that middle
class which not many years ago was
one of the most contented and reason¬
ably well-to-do, viz., the small trades¬
men and master mechanics, notes Wolf
von Schierbrand. They are being
driven steadily to the wall by the march
of progress and by the greater power
of intelligently directed capital. As
they are being driven out they swell
the 'ranks of employes, of factory
hands, etc., and cease to be their own
masters.
There is apparently a chance for en¬
terprising fanners to ply their voca¬
tion in the valley of the Yukon. They
can raise whatever will mature in
three months, and there are varieties
of wheat and barley, and, of course,
many vegetables , ,, which ... will ... do , this. ...
There is an immense and very rich
valley open to settlement. Abput ten
feet of the top soil thaws out during
the summer, and this can be cuJt
v
vated. The mosquitos and flie'.' make
it impossible for most far m animals -to
exist during the sumtaer, and they
would eat their heads off during the
lone winters, ,-f'fhe work will have to
be done w.’Tj-ieindeer. The summer
day is about three months long, and
so is the winter night. There are no
summer frosts.
The new Mills Hotel in New York,
which was opened recently, is an
interesting experiment. It was built
and is to be managed on the theory
that it is possible to give first-class
hotel accommodations at a low price
and still at a profit Tho establish¬
ment is situated on Bleecker street,
aud its outward aspect is one, first of
all, of exquisite cleanliness. The
structure is of light stone and of light
terra cotta, and handsome marble
steps lead to the offiee. The illumi¬
nation is through immense glass roofs
by day and by means of myriad eleo-
trie lights at night. The rooms open
upon courts which are said to be more
spacious and airy than the garden
courts of the wonderful Waldorf-As¬
toria, and the ventilation is nearly per¬
fect, the air being changed every twen¬
ty minutes. There will be writing
rooms, reading rooms, a library and a
billiard room. Every bed room con¬
tains a white enameled single bed,
with carpet and a chair, and a shelf
for hooks and clothing. The light for
these rooms, however, at night comes
from the corridor without, and like¬
wise to wash one must go elsewhere—
to the general lavatory, where there
arc many basins and all other con¬
veniences. The spring beds and mat¬
tresses at the Mills are exactly tho
same and come from the same place as
those used in the great palace hotel
on Fifth avenue. At this beautiful,
convenient and admirably arranged
hotel only twenty cents a night is
charged for lodging, while excellent
meals are served in the restaurant at
from ten cents upward. It is said
that a person can live very well at this
establishment for forty cents a day,
The enterprise is conducted not as a
charity in any sense, but on business
principles. It represents a large in¬
vestment, but its proprietor believes
that it will meet the wants of such a
large class that while it will be a great
boon to them, it will also pay him
well. It is certainly an audacious
venture, and its success may lead to
xe Tolntio a in thi) hotel buain$5fi.
.
THE END OF_THE WAY.
Where the rough road turns there’s a val¬
ley sweet— starred nnd fair,
Where the skies are
We’ll forget the thorns and the noonday
heat
And rost in the roses there.
And the dark ot the dreary, weary night
Will be lost at last in the morning light.
Where the rough road turns thore’B a haven
blest
Whore the ships at anchor ride,
And the sea-winds slug sweet songs ot rest
Over the dreamless tide.
Whore the tempests fade from a silent
shore
And the sails are furled forovermoro.
0 rost in the beautiful valley swoot,
And rost in the haven still,
What thouglutlie storms on the brave ships
heat—
Though the thorns are keen to kill?
Bet us dream' that the dark of the dreary
night light.
Will be lost at last in the morning
—F. L. Stanton, in Atlanta Constitution.
l^ioieieiaQeiefeieieiQfeieiefeimm'oieisK^ |
Her Husband’s A
$ A Relations. I
- I $
$ BY AMY RANDOLPH.
le!©i©ieKM©(e(eie(9(e*9ie!eieieieie«eief©!e(e(ef^l
~~P Mk/J / T is your own
-f§S^ fault, Clara” said
Walter May.
’'jagS "Jj§§T 5 ' is,” “Of cried course it
> out
3 15! Clara, passion-
1 pi ately, stamping
ft 5^ her carpet. foot “Do on you the
suppose I don’t know it perfectly well?
And that is what makes it so hard—
oh, so cruelly hard to bear!”
The fact was that Mr. aud Mrs.
Walter May had begun life at the
wrong end.
Clara Calthorpe was a pretty young
girl, just out of the hotbed atmosphere
of a fashionable boarding school.
Walter May was a bank clerk who had
not the least doubt but that he should
ultimately make his fortune out of
stocks and bonds.
“Clara,” be had said to his young
wife while the golden circle of the
honeymoon was yet overshadowing
their lives, “would yon like a country
life?”
“Oh, clear, no!” said Clara, in¬
voluntarily recoiling. i
“Because,” said Walter, somewhat
wistfully, “my father and mother are
alone on the old farm, and I think
they would like to have us come and
live with them. ” .
“I shouldn’t like it at all,” said
Clara, “and mamma says no young
bride should .ever settle down among
her husband’s relations.”
Mr.. May frowned a little, but Mrs.
Clara had a pretty positive way of her
own, and he remonstrated no further.
But at the year’s end Walter May
had lost his situation, the clouds of
debt had gathered darkly around them,
an< ^ ^e pretty, new furniture,
Eastlake cabinets, china dragons,
proof engravingB anJ hot . honBe plants
were so l,; under the red flag. They
had Lade a complete failure of the
business, and now, in
the fourth story of a third-rate hotel,
Mr, an 1 -, Mrs. Walter May were look¬
ing their future in the face.
Clara had been extravagant. There
was no sort of doubt about that. She
had given “recherche” little parties,,
which she couldn’t afford, to people
who didn’t care for her. She had
patterned her tiny establishment after
models which were far beyond her
reach, and now they were ruined.
She had sent a tear-besprinkled
letter to her mother, who was in
Washington trying to ensnare a rich
husband for her younger daughter,
but Mrs. Calthorpe had written hastily
back that it was quite impossible for
her to be in New York at that time of
year and still more impossible to re¬
ceive Mrs. Walter May at the monster
hotel where she was boarding. And
Clara, who had always had a vague
idea that her mother was selfish, was
quite certain of it now.
“There is but one thing left for you,
Clara,” said Walter, sadly.
“And that —”
“Is to go back to the old farm. I
have no longer a home' to offer yon,
but yon will be sure of a warm wel¬
come from my father and mother. I
i shall remain here and do my best to
'obtain some new situation which will
enable me to earn our daily bread.”
Clara burst into tears.
“Go to my husband’s relations?”
she sobbed. “Oh, Walter, I cannot!”
“You will have to,” he said, dogged¬
ly, “or else starve!”
So Mrs. May packed up her trunk
and obeyed. Aud all the way to
Hazeleopse Farm she cried behind her
veil and pictured to herself a stony-
faced old man with a virago of a wife,
who would set her to doing menial
tasks and overwhelm her with re¬
proaches for having ruined “poor,
dear Walter.” As for the farmhouse
itself she was quite sure it was a deso¬
late place, with corn and potatoes
growing under the very windows, and
the road in front filled with plows and
pigs and harrows and broken cart
wheels. But in the midst of her tears
and desolation the driver called out :
“Hazeleopse Farm! Mr. Noah
May’s! Here’s the’ ’ouse, ma’am.”
A long, low r , gray stone mansion, all
garlanded with ivy, its windows bright
with geranium blossoms aud the soar-
let autumn leaves raining down on the
velvet-smooth lawn in front. Clara
could just see how erfoneous had been
all her preconceived ideas, when she
found herself clasped in the arms of
the sweetest and most motherly of old
ladies.
“My poor dear!” said old Mrs. May,
caressingly.
“You are as welcome as the sun¬
shine, daughter,” said a smiling old
gentleman in spectacles.
And Clara was established in the
easy chair in front of a great fire of
pine logs, and tea was brought in and
the two old people cossetted and
petted her as if she had been a three-
year-old child, just recovering from
the measles.
There was iiot a word of reproach—
not a questioning look, not a sidelong
glance—all welcome, and tonderness
and loving commisaeration. And
when Clara went to Bleep that night,
with a wood fire glancing and glim¬
mering softly over the crim»on she hang¬
ings of the “best chamber,” be¬
gan to think that perhaps she had been
mistaken in some of her ideas.
The next day she had a long, confi¬
dential talk with her father-in-law,
while Mrs. May was making mince
pies in the kitchen.
■“But there’s one thing I haven’t
dared to tell Walter about," she said,
with tears in her eyes.
“What is that, my dear?” said the
old gentleman.
“My dressmaker’s bill,” said Clara.
“It came the night before I left New
York—oh, such a dreadful bill! I
hadn’t any idea it could possibly
amount up so fearfully.”
“How much was it?” said Mr. Noah
May, patting her hand.
“A hundred and fifty dollars,” said
Clara, hanging down her head.
“Don’t fret, my dear; don’t fret,”
said the old gentleman. “Walter need
never know anything about it. I’ll
settle the bill and there shall be an
end of the matter.”
“Ob, sir, will you really?”
“My dear,” said old Mr. May, “I'd
do much more than that to buy the
color back to your cheeks aud the
smile to your lips.” Mrs..
And that same afternoon, when
May had been talking to Clara in the
kindest and most motherly way, the
girl burst into tears and hid her face
on the old lady’s shoulder.
“Oh,” cried she, “how good you all
are! And 1 had au idea that a father
and mother-in-law were such horrible
personages! Oh, please, please for¬
give me for all the wicked things I
have thought about you!”
“It was natural enough, my dear,”
said Mrs. May, smiling, “but you are
wiser now, and you will not be afraid
of ur any longer.” arrived
Wheu Saturday night Wal¬
ter May came out to the old farmhouse
dejected and sad at heart. He had
discovered that situations do not grow,
like blackberries, on every bush; he
had met with more than one cruel re¬
buff, and he was hopelessly discour¬
aged as to the future. Moreover, he
fully expected to be met with tears
and complaints by his wife, for he
knew well Chara’s inveterate preju¬
dices in regard to country life.
But to his infinite amazement and
relief Clara greeted him on the door-
step with radiant smiles.
“Tell me, dear,” said she, “have
you got a new sitsstflsn?”
He shook his head saklly.
> “pm glad of it,” said Clara, bright¬
ly, “for we’ve got a place—papa and
msmma and I.”
“It’s all Clara’s plan;” said old
Noah
“But it lias our hearty approval,”
added the smiling old lady.
“We’re all going to live here to¬
gether,” said Clara. “And you are
to manage the farm, because papa
say3 he is getting too old and lazy,”
with a merry glance at the old gen¬
tleman, who stood beaming on his
daughter-in-law, as if he were ready to
subscribe to one and all of her opin¬
ions, “and I am to keep house and
take all the care off mamma's hands.
And, oh! it is so pleasant here, and I
do love the country so dearly! So if
you’re willing, dear—”
“Willing!” cried out Walter May,
ecstatically, “I’m more than willing.
It’s the only thing I have always
longed for. Good-bye to city walls
and hearts of stone; good-bye to hol¬
low appearances and grinding wretch¬
edness! Why, Clara,-1 shall be the
happiest man alive. But—”
“There,” said Clara, putting up
both hands ns if to ward off all pos¬
sible objections, “I was sure there
would be a ‘but.’ ”
“I thought, myTdear,” said Walter,
that you didn’t like the idea of living
with your husband’s relations.”
Clara looked lovingly up into her
mother-in-law’s sweet old face, while
she silently pressed Mr. Noah May’s
kindly hands.
“I am a deal wiser than I was a
week ago,” said she. “And, oh, so
much happier!”
“So am I!” said Walter.—New York
Ledger.
Strang© StoTy on a Tombstone.
The London Standard says: It is
said that after reading some of the in¬
scriptions in a churchyard, a little
girl asked her mother where the
naughty people were buried; and cer¬
tainly on tombstones it is the mere
exception that proves the rule to find
such a mixture of faint praise and
frank censure as in the folio-wing
epitaph, reputed to be found in North¬
umberland:
Hero lie the bodies
Ot Thomas Bond and Mary his wife.
She was temperate, chaste and charitable;
But she was proud, peevish and passionate.
She was an affectionate wife and a tender
mother.
But her husband and child, whom she
loved,
Seldom saw her countenance without a dis¬
gusting frown,
Whilst sho received visitors whom she de¬
spised with an endearing smile.
She was an admirable economist,
And, without prodigality,
Dispensed plenty to every person In her
would sacrifice family.
But their eyes to a farthing
candle.
She sometimes made her husband happy
with her good qualities;
But muoh more frequently miserable with
her many failings.
In so much that In thirty years’ cohabita¬
tion be often lamented
That, mnuger all her virtues,
He had not on the whole, enjoyed two
years of matrimonial comfort.
At length, finding
That she had lost the affections of her
husband,
As well ns the regard of her neighbors,
Family disputes having been divulged by
servants,
She died of vexation July 20, 1768,
Aged 48 years.
Her worn-out husband survived her four
months and two days.
And departed this life November, 28, 173%
INDIANS AS FARMEKS.
the crows once a warlike na¬
tion NOW TILL THE SOIL.
They Arc Railing Fin© Crop* ami Show
Considerable Evidence of Prosperity
— Have Built Fine Irrigating Canals
Under tlie Government’s Direction.
“It’s all a mistake to suppose that
the only good Indian is a dead Indian,"
said a man in the employ of the United
States, who arrived yesterday from the
Crow reservation. “I’ve just come
from a plaoe where there are good live
Indians and many of them, too. I
used to think that I knew a thing or
two about our triba.1 Indians, but I
lately came to the conclusion that I
had known mighty little about them,
after all.
“This year the Indians have raised
some fine crops, and they are begin¬
ning to show signs of prosperity and
thrift. They are not doing as well as
they will do in five years from now,
but that cannot bo expected. A large
per cent, of the farming has been car¬
ried on by communities, but that sys¬
tem has not proved satisfactory. It
never did any place in the world, and
it won’t there, for there are always
some more industrious and thrifty
persons in each community who feel,
and doubtless with justice, that they
do not get their share of the proceeds
at the end of the year, while there are
others too lazy to work much, who get
about as much out of the community
property as the thrifty, hard-working
class. In time, it is bound to come to
individual farms on all parts of the
reservation, for that is the only satis¬
factory way to manage the business.
“The greatest wonder of all on the
Crow reservation is the irrigating ca¬
nals that have been built there. Work
was commenced on them in 1890, I
believe, and since then eight big
canals, carrying sufficient water to ir¬
rigate from 2000 to 10,000 acres each,
have been completed and are now in
use, while a ninth, the largest ditch
of all, is being constructed. This big
canal will extend from the mouth of
the Big Horn canyon about forty-five
miles to a point within five miles of
Fort Custer. The water, you know,
is taken from the Big Horn River,
down which the canal extends for the
first fifty miles. Nine miles of the
canal have been built.
“Allithe canals constructed by the*
Government on the reservation were
built mainly by the Indians them¬
selves. Tho skilled labor for the
most part, of course, was taken from
the ranks of the whites, but out of
about 175 men now working on the
canal there are only thirty or forty
white men. I was told by the superin-
tenefc-utj in charge that the Indians
were becoming skilled in the various
branches of the work. While most of
the Indians are mere laborers, there
are some who are on the executive
force. There are several Indian gang
foremen and snb-boses, and they do
their work well.
“The strangest part of this work to
me is the fact that the Indians de¬
light to labor. I am” to Id that there is
not the least trouble in securing la¬
borers from among the Indians. In
fact, there is an' oversupply all the
time, and sometimes this becomes so
annoying that the agent is requested
to call some of the bucks off. There
are cases on record where the Indian
police have been offered, and paid,
too, sums ranging from $1 up by In¬
dians who desired to be overlooked in
the selection of those who were to be
sent away. The laborers are paid
31.50 a day, and the men with teams
get $3 a day. Those who have posi¬
tions as foremen get even better wages.
They save their money, as a rule, and
invest it in sensible ways.
“The big canal will carry water
enough to irrigate about 50,000 acres
of land. That part that is built now,
or the upper portion of it, at least, is
thirty feet broad at the bottom, aud it
will carry a stream eight feet deep—a
veritable river in itself. The walls of
the canal are twenty feet high at its
head. The great height was necessary,
as the Big Horn River in the spring
occasionally gets very high. The first
five miles of the canal were hewed out
of almost solid rock. About 20,000
pounds of dynamite were used on that
part of the canal already completed.
Every feature of the work is perfect
and one can’t help but bo impressed
with the permanency of it.”—Helena
Montana) Independent.
Food, V.'ork and Sleep.
What a great mistake it is to~con-
tend that time taken from toil for
sleep and recreation is time lost!
There is no greater fallacy, for sleep
and recreation form, as it were, the
cement put in to fill up the joints in
order to keep out the weather and pre¬
serve the edifice. A man does not
necessarily require riches, honors or
office—although the majority of us
naturally have an ambition to attain
one of these desiderata—but ho does
need food, work and sleep. It fol¬
lows, therefore, that he should use
every means to promote life, and
among these there are three things to
be kept in mind. When a man denies
himself sleep, food, and the exercise
work gives both to brain and body, ho
is robbing his life of its full term.
Let him be cheerful also, for the body
is like an engine—it will run well
and long if it is well oiled. Content¬
ment and cheerfulness are the oil
which keeps the nerves from wearing
out.
Kipling’s Latest.
Lord Aberdeen’s daughter, Lady
Majorie Gordon, has for some time
edited a children’s magazine called
“Wee Willie Winkle,” and to this
publication Mr. Rudyard Kipling has
contributed the following “nonsense”
rhyme:
There was once a small boy of Quobec
Who was buried in snow to the neck,
When they asked, “Are you friz?”
He replied, “Yes I is:
But we don’t call this cold in Quebec.”
CRAND L(f»A OF THIBET.
The Most Exclusive Dignitary on tlio Faoe
of tho Earth.
Most exclusive of all “pontiffs”
(if the term is admissible) is the Grand
Lama of Thibet, the Pope of
ism, who dwells in the inaccessible
fastnesses of Lassa—“Ground of God”
— on which no Western man may set
foot. According to the account of
Nain Singh, an Indian Pundit, Lassa
occupies the centre of a plain sur¬
rounded by barren hills, the passes of
which are guarded by many forts. To
say that this most sacred city is in¬
sanitary is to put in the same cate¬
gory for holiness and dirt with Bena-
res. Yet despite its reputed abomina¬
tion, Lassa, by virtue of its being for¬
bidden, lias been the object of many
futile pilgrimages on the part of the
adventurous and prohibited West-
erner. To the weird ceremonies and
incantations of the place Buddhists
may and do flock freely, but the un-
believer w’ho attempts to approach the
city often does so to his cost. This,
as we have already noted, has been the
hard experience of Henry Savage Lan-
dor, the special commissioner of the
Daily Mail, who has suffered torture
and come very near to death for his
intrepid attempt to enter the “Ground
of God.” The Grand Lama, we are
told, is the patron of the extravagant
and cruel celebrations with which the
Thibetan New Year is ushered in, and
it would seem that this holy man is
likewise ready to give his personal
countenance when would-be intruders
on his sacred city are visited for their
temerity. It was in the Grand Lama’s
ow’n presence that Mr. Landor was,
all but executed. After torture with
hot irons, which left the artist-
explorer unmoved, it was decided
to beheaded him. Several times the
executioner brandished his sword
about the victim’s neck, but at the
last moment the Grand Lama, of his
clemency, stayed the steel and com-'
muted the capital sentence to the tor¬
ture of the rack. Mr. Landor, who
suffered terrible injuries, was at length
released, and made his w'av back to
India. What possibility there is of
obtaining redress from the arcli-fana-
tic is problematic. It is unlikely that
the adventurer will seek satisfac¬
tion, as he went fully prepared to take
his chance, even of boiling oil. The
Lama, although so exclusive to West¬
erners, does not dwell wdrolly apart.
He l is, indeed, kept constantly in¬
formed of European affairs, The
choosing of tho Lama, according to
some accounts, is strangely effected.
The Lamas seek to find a successor to
the Grand Lama in a child. The child
is really selected by the crafty Lamas,
but on the people a pious fraud is
practised. A bell used by the Lama
is privately given to the child as a
plaything. On the day of public
choice many unfamiliar bells are laid
before the boy, who is dissatisfied,
and at length asks, “But where is my
own favorite bell?” The Lama’s bell
is produced and welcomed. Plainly
this is the Lama’s spiritual successor.
This story may or may not be authen¬
tic.—Illustrated London News.
English School Flogging.
In former times much of the disci¬
pline was administered by the head
master. A certain Dr. Keate, who
was head master toward the middle of
this century, is celebrated for his
floggings. A characteristic instance
occurred when a very popular boy
named Munro was dismissed from
school for refusing to be flogged. At
tho next “absence,” when his name
was omitted from the roll call, his
friends set up a shout of “Munro!
Munro! Boo! boo!” In punishment
for this they were told to come daily
for an extra absence. This they de¬
cided not to do, and also determined
not to be flogged for it. Keate very
craftily waited until after “lock-up,”
when the boys were scattered in the
various boarding houses, and then
sent the assistant masters to fetch
them for punishment in relays. Some
of the boys tried to organize resis¬
tance by shouting from the windows:
“Don’t be flogged! Wo haven’t been
flogged!” but the relays kept coming
into Keate until after midnight, and
all but two of the boys were flogged—
over eighty in all. According to tra¬
dition, Keate was positively fond of
using the birch. On one occasion, it
is said, a batch of candidates for con¬
firmation were by mistake sent to
him on a “bill” like that used for re¬
porting boys for punishment. The
boys tried to explain the matter, but
Keate only flogged them the harder
for what he considered an irreverent
trick to escape punishment. All this
happened in time when the boys lived
under “dames” in the boarding
houses.—Harper’s Round Table.
Naming Plants.
When naming a plant in honor of
some man liberties are frequently
taken with the orthography, and very
often the person chosen is more hon¬
ored in tho name than by anything
special that he did to deserve it. The
celebrated French botanist, Baillou,
the naming of a plant from the
of Juan Fernandez, that had
never before been named or described.
that island he had naturally the
story of Robinson Crusoe in mind, and
thought, to honor Crusoe's man
he would give this plant his
but he did not call it Fridaya,
translated it into the French name
Friday—that is to say, the sixth
of the week, Yendredi, and the
is described in. the books as
No one would ever sus¬
from this name that it was in¬
to honor Robinson Crusoo’s
companion Monthly. on the desolate island.
South African Diamonds.
It is estimated that over eighty tons
diamonds have been unearthed in
South African fields during the
eighteen years. These represent
total value of 3280)000,000.
_
THE PLANINC-MILL CORE.
On© Man's Novel Wav oC Overcoming
Sleeplessness,
“More than once I had counted my¬
self to sleep," said Mr. Wingleby, “be¬
ginning at one and counting deliber-
ately on, mentally pronouncing each
number plainly, and counting on and
or up into tho hundreds and tlietkou-
sanus. Hometimes the cares which
had beset me and kept me awake, aud
which I was now trying to drive out
of my mind, would rush in and get all
mixed up with the figures, but I would
ltoep on resolutely, counting ‘seven-
thirty- seven — seven - thirty - eight —
seven - thirty - nine — seven - forty —
soven-forty-one,” and so on, in regular
unbroken succession, to drive the-
cares away and leave no chink by
which they could creep in again; and
usually the counting would work; hut
not always. Tho only uniformly ef¬
ficacious cure for insomnia in my case
is the planing-mill cure; but that, ow¬
ing to force of circumstances, employ! I am un¬
fortunately unable to
“It is a familiar fact that the faint¬
est scratching of a mouse might wake
us up out of a sound sleep, while a
sustained and steady roar would ouly
conduce to slumber. There is some¬
thing about tho hum of a planing-mill
that is to me particularly soothing. I
could always go to sleep in a plauing-
mill, aud the odor of the freshly cut
wood is delightful; and when I found
that the counting cure was .losing its
power I made up my mind to put into
my house a small planing-mill plant,
for I must have sleep, and I thought
that I could plane lumber enough, too,
to make the plant pay for its keep.
“I set the machine up and got in zi
little lot of selected pine boards, an m
fixed them so that they would feed in-
to the machine automatically after I
had started it, and then I went to bed
and settled,down comfortably
pulled the rope.
“Br-r-unwn-m-m, delightful. fanH
ing sound, but just as I was tlV
asleep the doorbell rang, and
was very little sleep for me that niH
after that.
“Not to burden you with the S
tails, the whole neighborhoodobjeotqH
to the planing machine, and I had
give it up and fall back once more
old-time methods.”—Chicago Record.
Dangers From Salt.
The use of salt as a condiment is'so
general and so universally believed in
as necessary that we rarely hear a word
against its excessive use, but there are
a multitude of persons who eat far too
much salt: eat it on everything—on
meat, fish, potatoes, melons, in butter,
on tomatoes, turnips aud squash, in
bread, and on ahostof foods too numer¬
ous to mention. To so great an extent
is it used that no food is relished which
has not a salty taste, and this hides
more or less the real taste, which id
often very delicate. Now, the smoun
of paratively salt required small, in and the if system the diet is conj h/M
been rightly compounded, very littl#
is necessary. Some go so far as tq
discard its use altogether, but wkethed
this is wise or not we will not heje
consider. • >
Now, what are some of the evils of
the excessive use of salt? They are
to paralyze the nerves of taste, or to
pervert them so they cannot enjoy any¬
thing which has not a salty flavor, and
in addition there is a direct tax on both
the skin and the kidneys in removing
it from the blood. Whether the skin
is harmed by this tax we do not know.
Possibly it is not greatly injured, yeti a|
wo know that few people possess
healthy skin; but it is now pretty welfl salt!
settled that an excessive use of
does overtax the kidneys in its removal,
and that the great number of cases of
derangement and disease of these,
organs is due to this use. It takes
only a little time to learn to enjoy
many kinds of food without salt, and,
we advise our readers and others tod
look into this matter and to try an'cl,’
diminish the use of this condiment so.'
far as possible. We believe they will
be better for it.—New York Ledger.
A Pullman Story.
One of tho beneficiaries under the-
will of George M. Pullman is his
brother, the Rev. Royal H. Pullman,
pastor emeritus of the Second Uni-
versalist Church at Baltimore, who re¬
ceives a legacy of 350,000. Part of
this sum, he says, will be used in ex-
tending the work of that church. Of ,
his brother’s course at the time of the
great railway strike, Mr. Pullman as¬
serted that the refusal to arbitrate was
the result of a conscientious belief
that consent would be conceding to
outside parties the right to dictate to
an employer on matters purely for
himself to decide. As a corollary
this, Mr. Pullman added: “On
occasion, I remember, when a
man ordered 300 cars from him,
brother said: ‘Make it a thousand.
will build them for you so cheap
it will pay you to get them now. *1
want to keep my men employed.’ The
railroad man agreed, and I know that
all my brother’s company made on the
whole order was 315.”—New York*
Times.
Four New England Widows.
The chronicles of births and deaths
kept by the minister of a New Eng¬
land parish in the eighteenth century 1
afford much interesting and some
amusing reading, even at this late
day.
In the records of deaths in one
Massachusetts town are chronicled the
departure from life of three widows,
three successive years. Their names
are smile so odd the as face to bring an involuntary reader
to of any wljo
recorded may chance in the upon them. They are
following order;
1742— The Widow Duty.
1743— The Widow Yell.
1744— The Widow Lull.
A few weeks later in the same town
the Widow Silence Dumm went to her
rest,—Youth’s Companion.