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GUESSING song. _„. v very many, and although so \Vr arc ' 1 * ’ V ,,i m,r"m' V mbcre we are able to control " the migbty sea. . tread on us at pleasure, but re "i°U .number, as you go, That keep ■> fcit.Mol o£ y° ur passing to and fro. ■ are bent on mischief, kindly go 1 :„me other way; j u ; have no guilty secrets to conceal or IjC to betray; „ i nlcases us far better when we share r° rl Vour ‘lawful sports . a inn pile us up and shape us into M ' ] monuments and forts. . The sands of the seashore. __]lenry Johnstone, St. Nicholas. § A LECTURE. 8 Greece Described to the I I Inhabitants of Walla g Walla. r —r | The man who had been everything p u t a barber and a policeman was narrating things. “When I first struck Walla Walla, hack in the autumn of ’86,” he said, I found that town a whole heap wore prosperous than I was. After j’d been there for a couple of weeks, W ith nothing doing, I began to re flect that if something didn’t happen pretty soon Id find myself bogged or vagged or something. In a moment of confidential gloom I imparted my tale of woe to the landlord of my hotel, with whom I happened to be all square-yards, for the reason that I’d had the prescience and foresight to pay my board with my last kale two weeks in advance upon hitting the^town. ‘“Now you ne*edn’t be surprised a -whole lot,’ I told the good natured landlord, 'if I stick your night clerk up one of these nights and take to the chaparral with whatever small change he happens to have in the till. I’m ail in, and I don’t see anybody in Walla Walla making feather beds from the moldings of the angels around here. How about a bell Hop’s billet, if you expect me to remain honest, or a. berth as head bootblack of.your doggoned old tavern?’ “It was at this stage of it that that whole souled innkeeper of Walla Walla got busy in framing up a scheme in my behest and behalf. “ ‘Never done no lecturin’, have you, buddy?’ he asked me. “Seeing that he was taking an in terest in me, I thought that I might as well be on the level with him, and so I told him, candidly, that, curi ously enough, I had never been en gaged in the lecture field. “ ‘Well, that ain’t sayin’ that, you couldn’t spin ’em a talk, s’posin’ the chanst swung your way,’ suggested the landlord. ‘Now, IJ-ve got tucked away in the cellar a lot o’ lantern slides —picters o’ Greece, ancient an’ modern, is what they’re labelled— that was left here a couple o’ years ago by a lecturin’ son of a skunk that never got sober ’nough. th’ hull time lie was in an’ around Walla Walla t’ onreel his talk, although he adver tised his lecture four or five times, never pullin’ it off. He was plumb loco from booze all th’ time he were here, and he disapp’inted th’ popu lation so often, after promisin’ t’ <1 liver his lecture, that the las’ time he falls down on ’em they gits t’geth €r an’ runs him out o’ camp, an’ he never streaks back no more. Conse quent, I’m th’ heir an’ assign forever o these yere slides o’ his’n that por tray all what is 'bout ancient and modern Greece. Now, there’s your bp, hombrey, and you can work the rest of it out f’r y’rself. You’re wel come t’ use them slides if you want to, an 1 I’ll guarantee you’ll draw a houseful with ’em, and that the boys 11 behave; they’ll have tc, ’cause they 11 be ladies present. I’ll see that everybody in Walla Walla what’s m'oke t’ lectures ’ll be on hand.’ ‘I suppose maybe there wasn’t manna in that kindly suggestion. I thanked the landlord, and he had the bunch of slides brought up from the cellar and dusted off. He not only had the slides, but he had the recreant lecturer’s magic lan tern an( t all the rest of the gear, all ready to be set up and put together “the lecture. I lookedthe slides * man from the ® eVi V\alla Walla op’rey haouse who f ' new all about magic lantern gear to as senible the stuff and try it out against a screen in the hotel dining ro°m after the supper had been ■ away, and it all worked on tallowed skids. hen with the landlord backing ti . ren ted the op’rey haouse for v. "Rowing Saturday evening—it a s then Tuesday—and inserted an *'k ad. in the newspaper to the ' that Euripides Aristophanes the famous traveler and “ ssor of the University of Athens, c j df>liver his noted lecture on an and modern Greece at the opera Hi w ° n Allowing Saturday eve ]„cf’ set of views il - of his subject that had , r b een got together, al, 1 landlord, who was consider wT°\ a citizen in Walla Walla, got tick 'Egging for me, and when the sio v, ere pilt 011 sale at the drug a f !u iey Weut like hot waffles near set -. stand - The lantern was thp b ° Al ‘ l t * le were thrown on ana v, l een in a r °tation rehearsal, me ■ '!7 lday morn ing it occurred to idea ‘ be such a bad sav *„ 01 me to think up something to “I , § ° With tlle Pictures ■GreopJ'?? riever been any nearer to bother ! !an Sand y Hook, but I wasn’t \ did-im- mucdl by that consideration. ' ‘ aud in much fear that the Walla Walla folks would be s&cklers for the exact figures as to ancient and modern Greece. “And, as a matter of fact, they wern’t. The lecture I gave them was all right and it went through with a clatter. I spread it on pretty thick about the conquering hosts of Alex ander of Macedon, and I let them have plenty of ‘The Isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece, where burning Sappho loved and sung”—in fact, I think I handed them that quotation no less than nineteen times during the lecture, just to fill in the desert spaces. Sappho was always a great favorite of mine, anyhow. “I mentioned, too, quite a number of times, how the mountain looked on Marathon and Marathon looked on the sea, and I lugged in Aspasia and her friend Pericles, and did the best I knew to whitewash the little uncon ventionalities of those two. I de voted a few moments to Diogenes, as well as Socrates, and I kind o’ puz zled them and aroused their admira tion by dwelling upon the Peripatetic School of Philosophy they didn’t know what I was talking about, and when a lecturer gets an audience in a state of mind like that their enthu siasm for him increases with each tick of the chronometer. “After it was over I counted up the gate receipts and found that there was $430 left for me after paying ex penses. I went back to the hotel in a fever and fervor of exultation. A squat, well dressed, curly haired man, with a swarthy skin and a thick black mustache, was talking with the landlord when I strolled into the ho tel office. The stranger turned and smiled a very agreeable smile he saw me. “ ‘My friend,’ he said to me, hold ing out his hand, ‘I congratulate you. I listened to your lecture. It was’— and as he was a foreigner he halted for a word—‘immense. When I re turn to my own country I am going to give an illustrated lecture on Ti bet.’ “ ‘Oh, you’ve been in Tibet, then?’ I said to him. “ ‘Oh, no,’ he replied, still smiling that engaging smile. ‘That’s why I’m going to lecture on it.’ “That squat man was a sure enough green tourist and scholar who had .ii-st happened to drop into Walla Walla in time to hear me lecture about Greece. The memory of his sacurnine grin is a nightmare to me yet.”—Washington Star. CURE FOR SNAKE BITE. llow Ranchman Treated a Wound When Far From a Settlement. Bitten by a rattlesnake in the calf of the right leg in the Santa Ana Mountains last Saturday, John Me- Cornick, a rancher .of Grapeland, saved his life by making an incision with his pocket knife and inserting a piece of the reptile’s flesh in the wound. He bandaged it tightly and walked seven hours before he reached his ranch, where he could receive medical treatment. Dr. Summer J. Quint was called from Los Angeles to attend McCornick. When he arrived he found that his patient was suffer ing from a slight poisoning. He de clares that McCornick saved his life by his own treatment. McCornick was hunting through scrub oak when he felt a peculiar sting in his leg. He looked down and saw the snake dragging on the ground as he walked. Its fangs had become fastened in his leggings and it was unable to withdraw them. With the butt of his gun McCor nick knocked the snake off and then crushed its head with his heel. As quickly as possible he ran into the open and carried the snake with him. When he bared his leg he squeezed all the blood he could out of the two punctures which the fangs had made. he opened a gash, cutting two wounds and letting out th?fcjood and poison. He cut a piece (S%lesh out of the snake’s back and inserted it in the wound. McCornick used his handerchief for bandages and then tied his leg again i ust above the knee to stop the poi son from working through his sys tem. McCornick was miles from any set tlement where he could secure medi cal attendance, so he started back to Grapeland. His leg pulsated with pain and he soon became deathly sick. In his weakened condition he was compelled to rest on the road time and again. When he finally reached home he was almost exhausted and his leg was dreadfully swollen and almost black. McCornick says that his treatment was famous among the Indians for snake bites and he has known of a number of instances where its appli cation has saved lives. —Los Angeles Times. Never Worried Herself, In declaring that she never knew her husband’s first name Mrs. Esther Nieman, of Monroe street, created laughter at the central police court. “I have always called him ‘Pop’ from the nrst day I married him, and as he did not object I never worried myself about his first name,” said Mrs. Nieman, who had her husband arrested on the charge of failing to support her. The accused husband by direction of the magistrate was induced to tell his wife his full name. “Certainly—^’m glad to do it,” marked ‘‘but I thinlr my wifejtias known right along that I am Jacob Nieman.” —Philadelphia Inquirer. Provoking. “Dear me,” said “I do wish you’d quit potherin’ me when I’m writin’ letters. You’ve gone and made me leave the o out of Sylvester.”—Chicago Record-Herald. Ny I P Chocolate Ice Cream. Sift together one cup sugar, two level tablespoonfuls flour and half a spoonful of salt. Add two eggs and beat well together. Add ene pint hot scalded milk, turn into a double boil er and cook until smooth, stirring constantly. After it is smooth cook twenty minutes, stirring occasionally. Cool, add a pint and a half of cream, one cup of sugar, half a tablespoonful of vanilla and two blrs of sweetened chocolate, melted with a tablespoon ful of hot water and blended with a little of the cream. Add a half tea spoonful powdered cinnamon or a teaspoonful of the extract, which gives the cream a rich, spicy flavor. If preferred, you can use more milk and less cream, though the result will not be quite as delicious.—New York Telegram. To Can Tomatoes. These may be simply peeled and stewed, as you would ordinarily stew tomatoes, then put into jars filled to overflowing and fastened air tight, or they may he canned whole, which takes much longer. In this case, se lect medium size solid tomatoes, cov er with hot water and peel. Arrange in wide-mouthed jars, fill the jars with cold water, adjust the rubbers, lay on the tops and stand the jars in a wash boiler, protecting from the bottom and contact with each other by means of coils of rope or hay. Cover with cold water to three-quar ters of their height, bring to a boil and cook for half an hour. Take out each jar one at a time, screw tight, return to the boiler, fill to overflow ing with hot stewed tomato, and cook ten minutes longer. Washington Star. Plum Pudding Without Eggs. This delicious light pudding is made by stirring thoroughly together the following ingredients: One cup ful of finely chopped beef suet, two cupfuls of fine bread crumbs, one cup ful of molasses, one of chopped rais ins, one of well washed currants, one spoonful of salt, one teaspoonful each of cloves, cinnamon, allspice and car bonate of soda, one cupful of milk and flour enough to make a stiff bat ter. Put into a well greased pudding mold or a three-quart pail and cover closely. Set this pail into a large kettle, close covered and half full of boiling water, adding boiling water as it boils away. Steam not less than four hours. This pudding is sure to be a success, and is quite rich for one containing neither butter nor eggs. One-half of the above amount is more than eight persons will be able to eat, but it is equally good some days later steamed again for an hour, if kept closely covered meantime. Serve with sweet sauce.—Boston Post. til NTS FOR. TtJ£ In O U S EKEEPERj Never place a salad in the refriger ator where meat Is kept. A deep ruffle added to the lower edge of your kitchen apron is a great protection. When about to cut new bread or cake heat the knife hot, as this will prevent crumbling. A pinch of salt added to the whites of eggs will cause them to whip in half the time usually required. Milk and butter should be kept covered when in the ice chest, as they readily absorb the flavor and odor of other foods. If every pot, kettle or pan when emptied of food is filled with hot wat er in the sink its washing later will be much easier. Gunny sacks cut the same way as carpet rags and w r oven with bright colored warp will make splendid rugs for the kitchen floor. Place a wet cloth under a cake pan before attempting to remove the hot cake; let it remain a short time and the cake easily drops out. Never cut more bread than is likely to be used at each meal, and no dry bread will accumulate in the bread box. A bread box should be scalded and aired once a week. To can horseradish grind it in a small meat grinder, then pack it in glass fruit jars and fill the cans with good, sharp cider vinegar. It will keep as long as you want it. In cooking on a gas stove the gas is saved by using vessels with flat bot toms rather than those with round ones, as the latter deflect the flame and much of the heat is lost. For doughnuts made with sour milk or cream add a generous tea spoonful of vinegar to the batter be fore adding the full amount of flour, and you will like them better than without the vtnegar. By the use of a soapstone griddle, which requires no greasing, batter cakesjfbuckwheat cakes, etc., may be bak without causing the odor and smoke to which many object in bak ing cakes on the ordinary iron grid dle. For colic and cramps in children this is a never-failing remedy: Take meat of ripe tomatoes; add a little sugar; give child a teaspoonful every half hour until relieved, then e\ery two hours until cured. In case a piece of the sting of a bee remains in the wound extract it with the fingers or a small pair of tweez ers. The best application for the in flammation is diluted ammonia wat er, after which a cloth covered with sweet oil should be placed on th© parts. AT THE SIGN OF THE HORSE „ Equine Steaks a-P!enty in Germany—Cheaper Than Bovine Beef, Flesh of Han’s Friend Fills Many a Sausage. " * * '* * * * i By CI.CII. INBI.EE DARRIAN. Have you ever wandered through any of the German towns and seen out side of some dingy little shops a swinging sign with the picture of a horse on it and the legend “Hier ist Rossfleisch zu haben?” Why a horse should be a cheaper dish than a cow, and he is certainly very much cheaper, is something of a mystery when one thinks of his cost as a locomotive. And the Ger man hausfrau insists that good, young horses as often end their ca reers prematurely in sausages as old and weather stained nags. And not only in sausages. It often happens—perhaps one can safely say it invariably happens— that the woman who.stands behind the counter in one of these stores is a well established hausfrau herself and has intimate domestic acquaint ance with the choice cuts of horse that she sells. It was in front of a little shop in Wilhelm Platz in Koenigsberg, ’way up northeast, near Russia, that an on his way down the crook ed sTreet from the old schloss recent ly noticed this same horse sign just below him—for the street is so steep that what is below you one minute is above you the next. Overcome at last by what he considered a mor bid curiosity, though the word is un pleasant to use in connection with what one eats, he ventured into the shop. He had seen the sign all over Germany, and since so many people ate horse American tolerance sug gested that perhaps horse was good. The usual German woman with the familiar German generosity of out line came out from her bedroom be hind the shop and looked expectant ly at him. Around the store, on the racks, hung haunches, ribs, legs and sides of dark red meat, while wooden dishes of finely chopped hamburger horse lay on the counters. “Will you kindly tell me how much horse is a pound?” asked the intruder, trying not to breathe. Un fortunately for his efforts to sympa thize with horse dinners, the place smelt like a morgue. “Twenty pfennig,” she answered. A rapid passage at mental arith metic brought the amount to five cents American. And, say the horse weighs eight hundred pounds, he would bring less than S4O as a dish! Who could buy him for that to ride on in the park? Relying on the Ger man good nature and remembering that everyone about him seemed to have plenty of time, he explained that he was an American and wished he knew something about how horse-a were eaten. Never Eaten a Horse! “I have never eaten one,” he re marked with a deprecating smile. “How long since you are in Ger many?” she asked stolidly. “Oh, about a year,” he smiled. “Then perhaps often *you have eat en one,” she reassured him. As he looked at the blackening meat and smelt the perfume of the horse, he shuddered. “How?” he asked, quietly. “There are many sausages,” she responded. “But if you have been only to good restaurants you have not got them. And if you keep house you must know when you buy horse meat because outside the store al ways must be the sign about it. It is required.” The horse is naturally not an un appetizing beast, and the shops in Berlin where you can buy a pound of him to take home in a paper bag are quite exquisite. And there are other aspects of this question of horse meat in Germany. That it is killed under government supervision and at the immaculate abattoirs outside the city limits, and that it is good fresh horse —all this is much to its advantage as healthful eating. In some of the stores, like the little one in Koenigsberg, perhaps they keep him too long; but that is not really his fault. It even cows sometimes. And very be as tasty a dish other of what Bernard Shaw calls “the dead aiw imals which we serve at our tables.” There is a certain amount of dig nity acquired by cooked horse which, for instance, “hot dog” has not at tained to in America. It is just pos sible in this connection that the Ger mans would take more seriously and approvingly the combination as a business of “Delicatessen and Fur rier” than we would. So many of the Germans eat horse with relish, not only the very poor but the work ing people, so called, that they feel no hesitation in talking about it. The woman who lives in a simple little in the country or town, or in one of the poor but outwardly clean flats in BerlinAs quite willing to tell you a few recipes for fried top of the or tasty roast horse flank, w You do not have to speak very much German to interest a woman wllo lives aw r ay off in the country in <Me of those squat, sharp roofed hou3. She is not afraid to have you cc*e up to her as she stands knitting atßiie door. She labors in the fields JBrself and, being as strong as a afraid of nothing. One o^Bh ese women whose little log to n slant mountain side led BP® stranger right into her Though a long breath of that Mountain air brings the g an edge, one does not dare in those regions to say he is hungry enough to eat a horse unless he means it. “You would see some horse cooking?” she flung over her shoulder in her burring, parrot toned voice. “Eating time is here already. You can sit by the stove and watch to see about the horse.” A Chestnut Tenderloin. She went at the business of cook ing, paying no more attention to him than if he were one of the accus tomed children who used to play about and long for the coming meal. The clip-clop of her heelless, wooden soled shoes, as she went from stove to cupboard and back, was almost the only sound. The mountain still ness from outside had long since come into the house. In the steep rising ground across a foreshortened garden at the back of the hut was dug a cave, secured in its open face by iron clamped wooden doors. A trip to this and a momentary disappearance into its cold shadows produced a flank of dark red meat. This weighty thing seemed no burden to the broad back as she trudged across the garden and through the low door. She cut off a strip of meat in shape like a pork tenderloin, only it was much larger, and this she sprinkled thickly with the coarse German salt and put into the oven. “So!” she muttered at last, break ing the long silence. “It will soon be ready, and will taste the very same as beef. A nice thing to eat with it is schotten puree. You know what that is? Mashed up peas and herbs.” The fumes of the roast were pleas ant. A stranger coming upon the scene from that time on would never have suspected the presence of an unusual animal in the oven. And no doubt this is so. Is there a question raised as to whether this meat is good for one? They say that the complexion is the barometer for the stomach. And if this is not yet an exploded theory, then horse must be a tonic. Never did skin and cheeks flare a brighter promise from within than they do among the poorer Germans. Maybe the thin, cool air has something to do with it. But horse does not pro duce ill effects, certainly. And the police would positively not allow it if it did. It is very strictly against the rules in Germany for a person to permit himself to be in jured in any way. A striking exam ple of this is shown by the law which states that if you are run over by a vehicle in the streets of a city you are fined six marks by the police. If any one unfamiliar with Ger many and German ways should find in this thought of horse meat a dis comfort which will make him afraid to travel in Germany, let him be en couraged not to worry. So unob trusive meek horse—as meek in the pot as in the stall—that the traveler will very likely never so much as hear about the question and will quite certainly never eat any of the meat unawares.—New York Tri bune. The Naughty Prince. An amusing story is being told in the Danish newspapers concerning little Prince Knud, son of the Crown Prince. Recently a dispute arose be tween his nurse and himself as to whether he should or should not take a bath. The argument culminated in a sponge being thrown in the nurse’s face and the royal mamma being sent for in hot haste. She de cided that Knud was in the wrong and sent him himself to fetch the cane with which she must beat him. He departed, and after some time came back again. “I can't find the stick,” he explained politely, “but here are two stones that you can throw at me.” Mixed Metaphors. Sir Robert Purvis, addressing his old constituents at Peterborough in defense of an act of Parliament un- whose operation some of them had gone to prison for a week, said: *That, gentlemen, is the marrow of rle education act, and it will not be taken out by Dr. Clifford or anybody else. It is founded on a granite foufN dation, and it speaks in a voice not to be drowned by sectarian clamor/’ In an address to the Kaiser Wilhelm’s father a Rheinlander said: “No Austria, no Germany. Such were thJ mouth of your always had in its eye.’’ Swiss Hive Public TwseopejH The only genuinely puWic obse* tory in tl*e world islat ZuJMT Switzerland. It is ing to the public, and dijßng Gp last! six months was than 25,000 people. which is mounted new and ingenious feet six inches long fourteen tons. Its twelve inches in diameter, to the instru ment is screen upon which obin the heavens are thrown benefit of those wait ing to get a peep through the tele scope itself. —Popular Mechanics. The electrical equipment of the Cu nard liner Mauretania includes over 250 miles of cables and more than 6000 fifteen-candle power lamps. fj Good Roads, g. For Better Roads. Many Americans who live in of near large cities would be surprised to hear it stated that the United States has the poorest roads of any ( civilized country in the world. Nev ertheless, the statement is declared by all who have had opportunity to learn by experience to be unquestionably, true, when the roads of the whole country are considered. Lately there has been much criticism of the auto mobile as being destructive of good roads. The damage is so great that in France the Government has been forced to take up the matter, dnd is even now studying preventive plans. In the United States, however, it may, be that the automobile will yet prove a powerful influence in better roads. The American Automobile Associa tion has recently held a two days* good roads convention in Buffalo, at which provision was made for practi cal demonstrations of the best meth ods of road-building and repairing, and for experiments looking toward the discovery of a binding material for surfacing roads which will not be sucked out by the pneumatic tires. There are signs, too, says Youth’s Companion, that the old policy of throwing upon the towns the burden of building the roads and keeping them in repair is to be superseded by, the more sensible plan of having the State do it. The towns will, of course, care for their own streets, but the main highways should be built and cared for by the State, as they are in France, Germany and Switzerland. - Good Roads Era, “All travelers desire good roads, and they are a source of convenience and comfort to every one,” said Mr. Robert E. Hill, of Pittsburg, who is at the Hotel Martinique. “Well built roads attract large populations as well as good schools and churches. That they vastly im prove the value of property can easily, be appreciated. A good farm located five miles from a market and con nected by a bad road is of less value than a farm equally as good lying ten. miles from a market, but connected by well constructed roads. Good roads encourage a greater exchange of products and commodities, for larger loads can be drawn over roads in good shape by one horse than by, two over a poor road. The bicycle and the automobile are to be thanked for the marked improvement in the roads of the East. The West has much to learn in this respect, as was proven by the New York to Paris au tomobile race. “The construction of good roads is absolutely essential to trade, for they; are the arteries of communication. Our great increase in population com pels us to develop transportation fa cilities of all kinds to the highest de gree.”—New York Telegram. 0 Good Roads Proof of Intelligence. The Honorable John H. Bankhead, Senator of Alabama, in a powerful speech in the United States Senate upon the question of good roads, epitomized the whole question in a very few words. He said: “Good roads are the avenues of progress, the best proof of intelli genceflßThey aid the social and re ligious advancement of the people;) they increase the value of products, save time, labor and money; they add to the value of farm property; they, are the initial source of commerce which swell in great streams and flow everywhere, distributing the products of our fields, forests and fac tories. The highways are the com mon property of the country: their benefits are shared by all; they aro needed by all; they benefit all and all should contribute to them.” It would be difficult to make a stronger plea for good roads. The above statement coming from a man. of high social and political standing will command the respect of every one. His golden words will become a classic upon the subject. Must Keep Good Roads. Farmers desiring to continue to re ceive mail by rural delivery must see to it that the condition of their roads is maintained at a high standard, to enable carriers to deliver mail with eaA and facility, according to an an no*! cement of the Postoffice Depart meft May 14 last the attention of the at Peru, Ind., was called toJK bad condition of the roads on free delivery routes of that Through efforts of the post- work was begun on seven of roads leading out of Peru. local meeting it was decided the detail of an engineer ■^fj. Roads Bureau of the to eon lesson road, and in Slate law oniracts of $85,000 foMthe road3 irJthe county. * Hints to Fishermen. Always take a good supply of pep per with you. When sport is bad scatter the pepper over the w r ater and get ready to lasso the fish whenever they come up to sneeze. —Philadel- phia Inquirer. Short-Sighted Policy. Locking the heart against the drafts of sympathy is the swiftest way of impoverishing the whole life. The Chinese Government has de cided to increase the duty on cigar ettes —a rapidly growing import of that empire.