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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.