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' SI Jack of All Tmflei. By Chablxs reatw.
Tfte Wonderful trial* of an artisan who didn t stick to LU
Avlfc Fall of comical situation*, funny incident* of travel
U EAope and America, and thrilling adventure* as keeper
gff a Wossal elephant.
84 I.oyß, Lord Berrcßford. By the’‘Duchess.’ l
*TM* charming zociety story 1* one of the best from the pen
©f the popular author. It is spirited in action, and full of
situations calculated to illustrate high life and give
piquancy to the narrative. The work of a genius.
83. Clouds and Sunshine. By Charles Reade’.
A happily told story of farm life, full of pretty rural pictures
and pastoral sentiments. An ingenious plot, exciting narra
tive, characters with passions and motives just like '‘city
fblks " All in all, one of the most interesting and readable
efforts of the illustrious author.
82. The Haunted House. By Sir E. Bulwor
Lytton. This is one of the great author s quaintest conceits
and happily told stories. Weird and thrilling throughout,
■verybody rends it with feelings of delight.
81. John Milton. When, Why, nn<l What ho
Wrote, by H. A. Taine. Like nil of this brilliant author s
Works, t 1
Information. It is frill of surpri ■, and one can get a bet
ter idea of Milton, his Hui- s, style and works from its pages
than from any other source.
! B*i Dr. Marigold. By Charles Dickens. Ono
of Dickens' cri" and most ainusing -; • I sos a quaint
and curious character. lo adable, laughnM'i, and a snro
Wntidote to dull care. Ei <ry community needs its “ Dr.
Marigold,” and all lovers take kindly to his prescriptions.
79. The Knightsbridge Mystery. By
Charles Read". Uno of those ingenious y devised and
thrlllingly told stories which immortalized Reade. The plot
Is a work of art. Concealment is the artist's game, till after
winding through a forest of mysteries, the fearful cloud
hursts on the reader like an Alpine avalanche or ocean
water-spout.
75. Allan Quatermain; the latest and befit
Sovel from the pen of the popular 11. Rider Haggard. In
this story of African adventure, the author surpasses the
glowing descriptive vigor, startling situation and thrilling
activity that mado " Mho” such a revelation in Action. No
snore exciting romance has ever come to the surface in
English literature and it must share the popularity of all bl#
Other works. Part I.
i 76. Allan Quatermain. Part IL *
77. Allan Quatermain. Part 111. **•
78. Allan Quatermain. Part IV.
. 74 The Trial of Pickwick. By Charles
Pick* n*. This is the first time the entire story of the
Sallant Pickwick's adventures with the impressionable Mrs.
ardell has appeared in connected form. It abounds la
ludicrous situations and mirth-provoking incidents.
72. Duty Untn Death. or Life and Work ol
Rev. George ('. Haddock, Apostle of Prohibition in the
Northweßy his brother, John A. Haddock. The murder
©f this groat pulpit and platform orator and eloquent
ten pion sent a thrill of horror through the
Northwest and entire country. Tho work is an ably
wrr.ten review of the man a-. 4 his career, and contains •
graphic accountof his oj as.ination. Parti.
73. Duty Unto Death, etc. Part 11. /
70. The Coming Knee, or New Utopia. By
Pfr E. Hulwcw 1-c i A thrilling hisiory of life among an
Ideal people f>-. ; I in >' c-utre of the earth, where the
bvnutifs are Arcadi.'n, tho form perfect, tho thought pure
and motive free. A charming book; cheerful. Parti.
71. < >• . C*t••pia. Part II
r uiirraßhk
tie Murray. A-" by t >ll H .-y if human character,
not a bit” overdrawn. Bulldogs and Butterflies are 'all
k Aroundu
\ 65. She; or Adventures in the Caves of Ker. By
’ n. Rider Hi.-'ar.l. This unique and popular story is a
new departur ■ in tb • i: '.I •ffi.'bn. Is pro Iv.etion has
carried the author iio fam? as a writer and artist. Tho
vigor and variety of the make it especially charming;
Its narratiie impart a pl> a ant thrill tn it glides through
Wonderful Been*.s startling events. I’art I.
66. .she; or Adventures, etc. I’art IT..
1 67. She; or Adventures, etc. Tart 111.
! 68. She; or Adventures, etc. Part IV.
61. Calderon the Courtier. By Sir E. Bui
wor Lytton, (i:r<fths t cftl. r gr -t u irLor’a historic
■torics. Full of graphic situation.*, quick action, and rars
information.
62. Stabbed in the Dnrk. By F. Lynn
Linton. A Btronc, stirrlnq story <r tl :uM Neapolitan days,
intricate situatiuus like a iaa..:ir. I;rt 1.
63. Stabbed in the Dark. I’art 11.
61 The Cricket on the Hearth. Bv Charles
Dickens. Ot
written by Did. •: All I. • /rit 3 beauty an t pathos,
And it will bo prcsTvo l r.l r il )■ .ig r.ftcr sumo of his
fnost imaginative works have L -u forgotten.
60. The Lndy of Lyons. By Sir E. Bulwor
Lytton. This is tho lalv as seen In the celebrated play of
the eamo name. It rank* in the prettiest picture or devo
tion and Blnccrcst expression of tho “ tender passi.n ” ever
placed on the stage.
59. Julia rind Her Romeo. By David Chris
tie Murray. This author is always ingenious and racy. In
•'Julia and Her Romeo ’’ he is particularly charming. The
reader is held to the last lu a spell which makes him regret
the end of the story.
58. Doom I An Atlantic Episode. By Justin
F. McCarthy. A powerful and thrilling story of life on an
American liner Tim situations nr i atural, th J plot in
visible from the " all aboard ’ at Liverpool, to the terrible
landing at New York.
57. Willinin Sltnhsprnrc; How, When,
Why and What he wrote. Uy ILA. Taine. There never
ties been compressed into ruc’i brief space fa much about
go Immortal "Bard of Avin” m in this work of the I
llllant French author. It will open the eyes of the reader
to a thousand things ha never dreamed cf
56. Rnssclns. Prince of Abyssinin. By Dr.
Bsmuel Johnson. One of those immortal writings by a
master mind which no one can afford not to read. It Is a
•lory of the human heart in its happiest moods, earnest
longings, and noblest aspirations. Part I.
j 56. Itasselas. Prince of Part 11.
54. Money. By Sir E. Bulwor Lytton. Who
•ver read Shakspcarc's rch--t of Venice ” should read
Bulwer's " Money.” Under the above title you see the
Coinage and jingle o' the full play.
52. Peg W«t?Thiglon. By Charles Reade. This
masterpiece by The great novelln is one of these exquisite
mosaics with which great mi-mis ornament their work. Not
to know Peg Wellington is net to know Reade. Part I.
.53 Peg Woffington. Part 11.
61. Mis# Tooni’v’h Mission. and I,addle. Two
©t those rarely conceived and charmingly told stories of
home and duty which refresh and inspire. They ought to
he read by every yoiyig pers. a who lia the world to face.
49. Paul and Virginin. By Bernadin de St»'
Pierre. This elegant houst h> l 1 elastic renews its freshness
•nd beautv with every reading. It h the ‘'story that
seventies, told in the purest language and teudcrest style.
| 50. Paul and Virginia. Part 11.
.48. Cardinal Richelieu. By Sir E. Biilwer
Lytton. The character of the wily, ambitious and brilliant
French primate, ns sketched by Bulwer in his Immortal
Lsy of Cardinal Richelieu, is the one which hits become
stork. It is a mastcr-piece of dramatic composition.
•47, Enoch Arden, and other grems. By Alfred
aenuyson. For purity of style, genuine Hweetncns and
touching pathos, the great poet has never surpassed ids
F'Enoch Arden.” In this poem of human affection he is at
bls best, and one cannot know tho pout-laureate without
knowing It.
46. Romeo and Juliet. By William Black.
An exqul.l'o sketch of two foolish lovers, who mingle tender
•entiment with the ludicrous in away to make everybody
•mile. This author's storks are always racy and full of
Mtog points.
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LULLABIES,
The afternoon is fair and Rtill-,
Unveering stand the village vunps,
The Sunshine Khjeps on L "f and sill
And glances from in Tneighlior’s panes;
A languid sense of slumber cheer
Broods over all things, calm and mild,
And low from o’er the way I hear
A mother singing to her child.
A mother’s love in measures thrills
The silence of mid-afternoon;
The baby’s pouting mouth it stills
That will not ope to cry or croon;
Soft folded to that tender breast
The little head lies
The songs drift o’er its dreams of rest—
The mother sings onto her child.
No other sounds are in the air,
And softly fall those drowsy tunes
Upon my heart like peace and prayer— ,
j A lullaby of childish rune*;
And slumber strains more low and sweet
Have never yet to sleep beguiled:
“Rest, little head and bands and feet!”
A mother singingwo her child.
—A. W. Bellaw iu Yankee fclade.
MR. BENONTS STORY.
■ “This is Mr. Benoni, ” said my friend
Dr. Bar> . as a sudden turn in the gravel
walk brought us almost face to face with
a man seated on a rustic bench. “Mr.
Benoni is a friend of mine, and is here on
a visit.” This last was said byway of
introduction in ?4r. Bononi’s bearing. h«
having risen and advanced towards us.
Ho was tall, proportionately broad, and
his steel gray hair framed an intellectual
face. “Mr. Benoni,” continued Dr.
Banks, when we had sauntered up to the ■
bench and seated oursekes, “loves na
ture. I venture to say that two houYs i
liefore we were stirring he was wander
ing through the garden listening to th"
voices of the morning.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Benoni, “I was out ;
1 early this charming morning: and where
' could <me enjoy it more fully than in this
beautiful garden? Your friend”—ad
dressing me--“made a fortunate choice?
when he selected this site for a country
place. One can roam for hours without
tiring through the spacious grounds. Dr.
Banks understands me. He knows that
I love to commune with nature, and he.
of.on leaves me undisturbed in tho soli
tude of some shady retreat. There is:
i but one objection to the place, and that
objection arises through the doctor’s!
; own fault. I speak frankly and with
out reference to yourself —he has
i too many friends. The house is often
full of them. He is constantly asking
I people to visit him, and those who come
' usually stay a long time. They interfere '
with my enjoyment of nature. When I
have found a solitary nook where I can
' remain undisturbed, one of the doctor's
friends appears in view—more than
likely Mr. Arundel, who is seated yonder
j reading, and who seems to have a habit
of getting in iny way. When 1 first vis
ited tlie dixrtor here, ho did not have so
! many friends. Bui I suppose his con
i stantly growing practice has brought him
into contact with many people. I will
not be so lie bad
' » \
3 haye been here so long that 1 r<*gard the
place somewhat as my own. Hence my
frankness. 1 love the doctor—he is the
only man I love for only he. the birds
and the Howers understand me.”
Dr. Banks had been listening with a
good nature*! look to Mr. Benoni’s strict
ures on his liberality. “Benoni,” he
said, “1 am sure my friend is another
man who will understand you. if you will
tell him your story. Be has traveled
much, seen much and read much, bin I
am quite sure he has nev r had or heard
of a stranger experience than yours. IL
is my best friend in strong sympathy
with all my thoughts and opinions; and
I am convinced that as I understand you,
I so will he.”
Mr. Benoni looked at me earnestly, and
then bowed his head meditatively. Look
ing suddenly up again and pointing to a
lily which rose ma jest ieally yet gracefully
above a bed of Howers, lie said: “That
; lily brings vividly before me a form of
I grace and a face of beauty—the form and
face of my dead wife. I hold the dixdor
dear above all other mon, because hi
knew her and remembers her beauty. I
love nature, because in all that is beauti
ful in nature 1 <*an see her. Hence 1 love
solitude, because in solitude t can best
coininiiiie with what is most beautiful in
nature.
“No one who never knew my wife can
appreciate the shadow which her death
has cast over my life, or form an idea
of the grief and despair which since then
has entered my heart. We had known
each other since childhood, for we had
giown up together. Our p.m-ent / homes
wre adjoining. We romped i -ether
with the children of the neiijiborhood.
In those childhood games 1 --amid a
kind of protectorate over her,
in thos<* disputes iTi which
dren’s sports not infrequently Bd I
took care that she was Awver
I wronged. I remember especially one
I occasion when 1 was her champion. As
I a child, already .Alice had a profusion of
black hair. In the days when we played
those romping games ic was bound by a
single ribbon, from which it fell over hei
shoulders and back. AA hen she ran, her
motions were grace itself. Iler cheeks
glowed with excitement, and her hair
streamed in the breeze. One day a boy.
who was running after her in one of orw
! games, in his eagerness to catch her, in
| stead of waiting till lie gained on her sui-;
ficiently to grasp her arm. caught her
streaming hair. The check was so sud
| don and so rude that she fell with a sharp
; cry of pain. AVliat followed 1 cannot
tell of my own knowledge. Lookers on
I tol l me that I throw upon th<
i boy. and that a short but severe tight on- !
j sued -short because my blood was up—
an<l 1 soon felled him. That incident
drew Alice and myself closer to one an-
I other, and our friendship soon became j
proverbial among our companions. And
so our childhood passed, and she entered i
upon lovely maidenhood and 1 upon
youth. The promise of her beauty as a ;
child was more than fulfilled: the loveli- j
ness of her face harmonized with the •
maidenly grace of her form. In hei ;
childhood I had been her protector, bid i
now it seemed a$ though I relied more
upon her than she upon me; for I laid aE
my hopes and ambitions before her. and
sought guidance of her. She would j
listen to me with tender interest, and
al vise me gently yet firmly.
“Soon another bond of sympathy
sprang up between us. AA'e had in com
mon a love for beautiful music. Th:
parents of both of us were musical, and
as children aheady we had received les
sons on the piano. But in those days we
were more interested in our childish
games. As we grew older, however, and
more serious, and our emotions deeper,
music gained a strong hold upon us. Not
only did we hear the compositions of the i
great masters performed at concerts, but '
we played arrangements of 1 hem as duets *
on the piano. Thus we grew more and |
more familiar with them, until we knew ,
them note by note. When we could
play them technically correctly we tried
to penetrate into their deeper meaning, j
It was then I began to discover the poetry
of Alice’s nature. Beauties which would t
have remained hidden from me she dis- >
covered, and for the inferpretation of
every composition she had numerous
poetic suggestions, And so we often
reveled in a wealth of beautiful sound.
Yet we were quite unconscious of the
lx>nd of sympathy which united us until
there came a time when we thought we
‘ should lie obliged to pnvt—for the first
time since early childhood* Alice’s pa* ,
rents bad dcckted to take her I I ’urope
for a year or two, in order thir reign
travel might complete her educ; J
remember, ns if it Wei’e but ye lay, i
the afternoon when she told me ’ btir
approaching separation. She spoke of it
with mournful tenderness. I say
• nothing. But I had a hbheF
■ than speech irt which to express the emo
tions which welled up as she spoke.
There is an impromptu by Schubert,
which has been aptly entitled the ‘Elegy.’
It is a mournful melody, floating over a
; softly flowing accompaniment, like the
voice of a lonely spirit over the water.
i Gently I drew Alice to the piano; and
seating myself at the instrument, intoned
the -Elegy.’ Swayed by a feeling which
I could not define, I played with the
deepest expression of which I was. capa
ble. As the last notes died away hot
tears fell upon my hands. I looked up
into Alice’s face. She was weeping.
Flushed with the heat of sudden passion,
I clasped her to my heart and kisse<l her.
A moment later a thrill of joy passed
through me as her lips touched my brow.
Releasing her, I knelt before her. She
laid her hands upon my head as though
in blessing. Not a word bad* been
spoken, but our stories had been told—
we loved one another.
“Alice di-1 not go to Europe. Our
parents were not opposed to our union.
Indeed, they had expect* d such an event,
though not so soon. Still, they had so
familiarized themselves with the idea,
that., when opr love for one another was
made known to Alice's parents, the trip
io Europe was abandoned. We were
not, however, to marry until the lapse
of two years, when I would be 22 and
she 20. Fortunately my parents were
well off, and it was not necessary for me
to earn my own living before I could
marry Alice. All the same. I was ambi
tious enough to work hard at the studies
which were to fit me for the legal pro
fession, a course in which she encouraged
me. Need 1 tell how happily those two
years passed? Os our loving exchange
of confidence? Os the trust we reposed
in one another? The sweetness and beau
ty of Alice’s character became more and
more apparent to me; and when, two
years after our engagement, we were
united in marriage, it seemed to me as if
the climax of happiness had been reached.
As 1 stood at the altar to receive her,
and she came up the aisle clad in white,
her face calm yet radiant, I could not
but feel that I was receiving an angel
into my Jif*'. Nor was I mistaken. But
I had been mistaken when I had thought
that the climax of happiness had been
reached on our wedding day; for every
<!ay of our married life brought new
happiness. Alice’s face often wore that
calm yet radiant expression it had worn
on our wedding day. Her lips </len
seemed to me about to part in a smile of
happiness. When her face wore that'
expression of quiet rapture it was loveli
est to behold. I see it rising before me’
now! I put out iny hands to touch it!
It has vanished! ’Ah! it was but the
vision of a spirit! For, alas! Alice
is no more. Three years of ever in
creasing happiness, and then came a
tragedy all the more terrible for the
bli. which had preceded it. Ah. bitter
memory of the hours of agony I passed
at her bedside! Alas! will time never
assuage tin* despair, the agony, of that
hour when they told me her eyes had
clos. d in death? I charged them with
lying tome; for. as I looked upon her
face as she la.y there so still, her lips, as
so often before, seemed to me about to
part in, a smile of happiness. Is it a
wonder that, when they came to 1 ir her
away to the tomb, I stood lil wiki
beast at bay before her coffin : .red
them to approach? Seized, ovei red
by superior numbers, it was on t when
they threatened to force me to remain
guar led in that room that I desisted in
order that I might be allowed to follow
her remains to the tomb, and there be
suffered to gaze upon her features.
Fools, to think her dead! I knew better
than they. Would her lips still seem
about to part in a smile of happiness if
she were dea I and lost to mo? 1 felt that
when, at lb'- moment which others would
think to be tho moment of my final part
ing from her in the tomb, I called her by
name, she would awaken from her trance
anti el.'isp me to her bosom and return
wiili me once more into the air and sun
shine. At last that moment came. The
dreary cortege had reached the tomb, the
heavy portal had been thrown bac.<. and
they bad borne the coflin into tlie sepul
cher, and placed it upon the catafalque.
I stepped forward to take what th- fools
who had brought her there thought would
bu- my last look at her. As I approached
her I saw the dear familiar look of quiet
rapture come over her face, her lips
seemed about to part in a blissful smile,
and I was sure I saw a slight tremor of
the hand nearest me. I coukl not control
my feelings. ‘- Alice! Alice!" 1 exclaimed,
and rushing to the side of the coffin, 1
raised her and clasped her to my breast.
“Tie is mad!’ I heard one of those
behind me exclaim. A moment later 1
was seized by strong arms. I struggled
with the strength of desperation. It
availed me nothing. I was dragged from
the tomb. 1 heard the clangor of the
portal clo'ing upon my beautiful wife.
Then I lost consciousness,
“When I became conscious I found
mvsclf lying on my bed at home, sur
rounded by members of my family. The
family physician was feeling my pulse.
My face must have worn an inquiring
look, for he said, soothingly:
“ ‘You must remain here quietly for a
while. You have been very ill. It is
two weeks since you were placed uncon
scious upon this bed.’
“ ‘Where is she?’ I asked.
1 “ ‘She? Who?’
“ ‘Alice! My lovely Alice! Where is
i she?’
“The physician turned to the bystand
ers, and shrugging his shoulders tapped ,
his forehead with one of his fingers.
“ ‘Wretches!’ I cried, raising myself
in bed, ‘you know not what you have
done. You have left her alive in the
tomb. I saw her hand move just before
I clasped her to my breast. No power
in the world can hold me back now. I
will open the portal of that tomb or die
in the effort!’
“The bystanders looked at the physi
cian.
•‘ ‘The exertion may be fatal to Mr.
Benoni,’ he said. ‘On the other hand,
: this excitement surely will be. Besides,
j you tell me that in the tumult attending
his removal from the coffin the lid was
1 not closed. That can lx? done, and Mr.
’ Benoni at the same time become satisfied
■ that his imagination has played him
I false. It may have a wholesome effect
upon him,’ was added in an undertone. ’
j “To get in readiness to start, to enter
a carriage, drive through the town and
into the cemetery, occupied barely an
’ hour. Yet, when* we drew up in front
of thg tomfy it.seemed to me ws if yearfl
had claimed. What wild fanbiea whirled
through my brain during that dreary
drive—my beautiful Alice rising in her
coffin; stretching out her arms into the
awful darkness of the tomb and piteously (
calling my name; calling it still as she .
gropes her way along tin* damp walls to
the portal: shrieking with despair ns she
finds ft closed; tearing her flesh from het*
fingers in her frantic efforts tb Idosd the
iron lock Hrid free
way once more along the damp walls
only to find herself again at t}ie tinyield- i
; ing portal; mad with faiiiine, beating her
head against tbej?ruei iron; ifi th” Hgoiiy |
df irisiinity icaHiig out handfuls of net
raven hair; in tho last desperation of
madness grasping the lock again and fall- ■
ing with a moftn lifeless against the por- ,
tai! Do you wonder that beads of per
spiration were on my brow when we
reached the tomb? I snatched the largo
key from the hand of one of my relatives
who had accompanied me. turned it in
the lock and pushed back the portal. It
I opened slowly for a few inches. Then I
something impeded it. Almost ITahtkS I
i called upon those who had come with me
to summon all their strength. With a
great effort we made the portal yield
enough to admit me. I rushed through
the opening. When barely in tho tomb
I stumbled and fell. As I fell, 1 clutched
about mo. and felt one hand do c* upon
•an arm. The others had followed me.
They dragged me out, my hand still
i clutching that arm. What was it they
drew out after me? Alice? Oh,, horror!
Lot me not call that hideous, distorted i
vision of her by that name! ‘Villains,’ I
shrieked, .as I gazed upon her lacerated, |
bleeding form, ‘you are her murderers— |
you who dragged me from her side and j
closed the portal of tins tomb Upon
her!' ”
Mr. Benoni buried his face in bi; hards,
and I saw that he was trembling with
excitement. Dr. Banks beckoned to ■
Arundel. The latter approach d. and '
without further order took a sea! besid
i the narrator. As Dr. Banks and I walked
i away 1 asked: “Arc you not afraid to
leave him with only Arundel to lo >k after ,
him?”
“No. Benoni is not a raving maniac. .
Indeed, he is one of the most tractable
inmates of my asylum, and Arundel is a
trusty keeper.”
“Has his story no foundation of fact?
Is it all tho offspring of his diseased
1 mind?”
: “There is foundation for much of it.
Benoni’s wife was a beautiful woman
named Alice Mowbray. They had known
each other since childhood, ftnd their
; union was singularly happy. Three years
, after their marriage she (lied, during the
• typhus epidemic here some twenty-five
years ago. Her death unsettled his rea
son. He would not believe that she was
dead. In the tomb lie insisted on being
allowed to see her face again. For fear
of maddening him they complied with
his wish and opened the coffin. It was
then his mind gave way. He clasped his
wife's dead form to his breast, and had
to lie removed by force. He lias been
hopelessly insane since then, his insanity
taking the shape of a fixed idea that
• some time after his wife’s death, as the
/ story lie told you ran. the tomb was ;
1 opened, and it was discovered that she
had been buried alive. 1 had just opened
this private asylum, and he was placed
i in my charge, and has been here ever
since.”
Three years after I had hei d Mr.
Benoni’s story I received, wiile I was
traveling abroad, a letter from Dr.
Banks, announcing the death of his pa
tient. “You doubtless remember his
wild tale,” he wrote. “I have something
to add. Day before yesterday the tomb
was opened in order that the catafalque
upon which his rcnimns were to be
placed beside those of nis might bo
prepared. The cuffing iiy ju hicli Mrs.
Benoni’s body lay closed the
tomb, some twenty-eight years ago, was
found to be open and empty. On search
ing the tomb they found near the portal
portions of a skeleton, and, clutching tho
lock so firmly that they had to loose them
by force, skeleton fingers.”
Was Mr. Benoni afflicted with madness
or gifted witli second sight?—Gustave
Kobbo in Frank Leslie's.
Gorman Artillery Experiment.
The German artillery has recently been
carrying on a series of successful experi
ments in lighting forts by electricity, with
a view to facilitate a bombardment at
night. On the practicing grounds near
Juterliogk thirty-six guns of all calibers
■ recently tired off 2,500 shrapnels and
other missiles under the electric light,
the distance leing from 2,800 to 3.80 C
meters. The experiments took place in
the presence of a’.xiut eighty officers, in
: eluding six generals. Though the night
j was very dark the elfect of every ball
, could lie clearly seen. —Frank Leslie’s.
The Charity Patient.
' I Young Student Physician (to charity
’ ■ patient)—l—l think you have a —a—
some kind of a—a fever; but —our class
: Iris only gone as far as convulsions. I'll
: come in again in a week.—Popular Sei-
i
, I Subsisting Upon Potatoes.
[ The only peojilo in the world who have
i fallen into the grievous error of striving
l: to subsist almost entirely upon potatoes
i are the Irish. It cannot be doubted that
> : nearly or quite all the ills that trouble
, unhappy Ireland are due to the humble
potato. The Irish are the meanest fed
] people living in a civilized land of which
. we have any knowledge; they are in a
. condition of semi-starvation, even when
in their highest prosperity.
Every visitor in Ireland is struck with
the “pot bellied” appearance of the na
tives, men and women. This abnormal
distention of the abdominal walls is due
to the enormous amount of potatoes they
are compelled to consume, in order to
maintain a tolerable degree of health.
If this people would quit the cultivation
of the potato, and supply its place with
; cereal grains, Ireland would soon 1 ecoma
I a happy and prosperous nation.—Popular
Science News.
Inhale warm salt water through your
nose if you wish to cure your cold, sayi
an eastern doctor,
Amateur Photographers’ Fad.
A new fad of the amateur photogra
phers, who are legion, is to take views on
every occasion possible cf events they at
tend, and preserve the same in an album
instead of keeping a diary. Indue 1, the
volume is called the “Album Diary.”
The guests at a recent fashionable social
gathering up the Hudson were sent by a
young lady of the household photographs
of almost every incident of the fete,
taken at the time unawares. Couples
were revealed in forest strolls, or seques
tered tete-a-tetes, and in one instance a
wife was shown in a quit! hallway tying
her careless husband’s cravat. The ama
' teur photograph ( raze lias proved a per-
L cl bonanza to the manufacturing trade
I —LTu-w York Times.
The ea .I v-y to find out a girl’s agf
i is to ask some other girl,
Brief and Fright,
f;
rniLADELPH!/, Oct 18< 1887. I
Robert J. Burdette, Bryn Mawr, Fa.:
Dear Sir—Some weeks ago I mailed you a let
ter with check. Receiving no acknowledgment
of it thus far, I am anxious to know if it reached
you safely. Yours truly,
Cyrus 11. K. Curtis.
11.
Bkanville, Mass., Oct. 26,1687.
It came and went
Was cashed arid spent<
part sos clothes and part sos rent.
Yours as ever,
Robert J.
—The Journalist.
A Cbld Fay*
WJL
W I i
Pawnbroker's Cat (to summer clothing)—lt
I wns a cold day when you were left.—Tid
I Bits.
| QUAINT SAYINGS OF CHILDREN.
TTIF SHADOW OF COMING CARE.
Mary to Alice Your doll looks very
poorlv. What ails it) Alice—lt frets a good
deal.' Alfred knocked out one of its eyes last
week, .-.nd it lost n great deal of sawdust, and
hasn’t been the same doll since.
SHE HAD HIGH ASPIRATIONS.
There was a strike in the family of an up- j
town citizen the other day. Little Miss
Edith, who has attained the massive age of
(1 year.- has long been a light in the infant |
class of her Sunday school, a company of |
some thirty juveniles. On the particular day
mentioned she refused to attend. ‘ I Hint
going any more,” she said; “I'm tired of be
ing with those kids; I want to be promoted.”
She won.—Brooklyn Eagle.
SCHOOL BETTER THAN HOME.
Bobby—Ma, can I stay home rom school
today?" Mother—Yes, Bobby, your father
wants you to help him put up the parlor
stove. Bobby—M ell; ma, why can’t Igo to
school?—The Epoch.
WHY BOBBY REFUSED.
Minister—And so the little boys asked yon
to play marbles on Sunday, Bobby, and you
refused. Bobby—Yes, sir. Minister—Now
tell me why it, was, Bobby, that you refused.
Bobby—’Cause they wouldn't play for keeps.
—New York Sun.
ANNOUNCED FROM HEADQUARTERS.
A little girl of 0, the daughter of a friend
of mine, did a precocious and amusing thing
the other day. She is possessed of a fiery
bead of hair.' Getting into n street car with
her mother, she noticed the glance of the
passengers and their evident amusement as
the same thought occurred to them. Climb
ing on the seat she looked up and down the
street, finally exclaiming as her eye rested on
' the object it sought: “Oh, mamma; there's
j a white horse.” The laugh that went around
the ear showed that the passengers appre
ciated the little one's quick perception.—St.
Louis Spectator.
SPARKS FROM LITTLE ADELAIDE'S BRAIN.
An influx of “over Sunday” visitors hav
ing filled eight scats at, Adelaide's table with
young measlie refused to eat. Being ques
; tioned the 4-year-old mite replies: “I am not
I at all pleased at such a crowd of men being
! sent here. They take away my appetite!”
(She seems likely to survive.) Pajia to Ade
laide (whose mamma is away for a few days)
I —We miss mamma awfully, don’t, we. Ade
laide.- Adelaide (hesitatingly)—l don’t know,
1 papa; probably you do, but she fusses so, 1
think it tries my nervous system. At another
I time a strange child was introduced to the
I tiny hostess with injunctions as to his enter
tainment With a superb dignity the sug
! gestions were cheeked by: “My dear, I have
played with children all my lite.” American
Magazine.
TURNING THE TABLES.
I Aunty-Here is an apple, Johnny; share it
i with your sister in a Christian spirit. Johnny
—How am I to do that, aimtie? Aunty-
Offer her the largest piece. Johnny (hand
ing the apple to his sister) —There, Sissy, you
share like a Christian.—Life.
HE KNEW ALL ABOUT IT.
Old Lady—l’m sorry to hear a little boy
j use such si >cking language. Do you know
I what becomes of little boys who swear?
j Urchin —Yes in. Dey gits ter be hoss car
drivers.—Tid Bits.
II is Predicament.
Iler witching bonnet trimmed with lace,
The sweetness of her upturned fuco
Enchant me.
Iler figure trim, modish, petite,
Her slender hands, her dainty feet,
They haunt me!
I dream of her the long night through,
And vow that bravely i will woo
And win her.
I know she’s good and kind and true;
I love her better than I do
My dinner.
I love her fondly, yet I know
I'd never dare to tell her so
Or pet her.
And while I'm wailing, I'm afraid
Some other chap will court the maid,
And get her.
—Somerville Journal.
Theory and Reality.
First Editor—What arc you writing on,
George?
Second Editor—“ Mistakes of Financiers/
and I wish 1 was through with it. You’ve fin
ished your article I rec.
“Yes, min.' was on a simpler subject, ‘The
Way to Wealth.’ By the way, George, lend
me a quarter.”
“Haven't a dime to my name, Jack.”—
; Omaha World.
Preparations for a Fust.
Bagley—l have concluded to fast for o
week in order to sec if I can’t tone up my
j system.
Bailey—How arc you going about it?
Bagiev—l’m going to hire my meats at
some one of our big hotels, and have the re
port spread, so that the waiters will hear it,
that 1 am violently’ opposed to tips. —The
Judge.
Another Mystery Explained.
Boston Man—l think people must be be
coming honest. I have carried a valuable
silk umbrella for five years and no one has
over touched it yet.
Omaha Man—Got a lock on it?
“No; it’s just like any othci handsems
umbrella. I bought it from John L. Sulli
van. His name is on the handle.” —Omaha
World.
San Francisco's Liberty Statue.
The statue of libcr+y which Adolph
Suti-o is erecting on Mount Olympus,
San Francisco, Cal., is the work of a
1 Belgian artist named Wiertz. It was on
exhibition in Antwerp and received high
praise. Adolph Sutro saw the figure
and thought that it would be an' embel
lishment to the entire Sin Francisco
peninsula. The torch in the npstretched
arm of the goddess will be of 10.000 can
dle power, ami the light will be furnished
by the city of San Fram.i co. The torch
will illumine the'Lay'and Golden Gate
par!;.—Chicago News.
BOOKS,THREE CENTS EACH!
Thd following books aro published In heat pamphlet form, printed from good readable type on good
paner and many of them handsomely illustrate'!. They aro without exception the cheapest books ever pub
lished in any land or language, and furnish to the? masses of the people an opportunity to secure the best
literature of tho day at the most trillin'' expense. In any other series these great works would cost man;
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Wonder, of tlio World. Natcsac ask Con-
tnliiN il-fi-i Iptionx nnd Hlu»tr»tion» of the m<'*t wonderful
win ks of nature and of man. Very Intcreßtlng and instructive.
Wonder* of the Hott. A description of the many wonder
ful and beautiful things found at the bottom of the ocean, with
profuse illustrations.
“A PlciiMiire Exertion, ’ nnd Other Sketches- By
‘•Josiah Allen's Wife." A collection of Irresistibly lunuy
Sketches by the most popular humorous writer of the day.
The Aunt Kcslhli Pnpers, by Clara Avodbta, author
es "The Riigit Documents." A most ridiculously fuuny book
-Mnnvei v way equal to "Widow Bedott.”
ChrUtnia* Nlorlc*. b? Chari ks Dickens. Contains a
dumber of the triristcharming Christmas stones ever written
t/y the greatest writer who overlived. Earh one is complete.
Round the Eveninc Lamp. A of stories, pictures,
puz.r.lenan l games, for the little folks at liotne.
Popular Recitations nnd Dlnlocue*. humorons. drama
»l ort'i patlmtic, in'lnding nil the Infest, best and most popular.
The .•’elDmttdc' Men of .Modern Times.
traits and biographies «t tn mon* self-made Americans, irom tne
time of Franklin to the present. .... , , ~
Fnmillnr Quotation*. ContaihiW origin and anthor
ihipof many phrases frequently met in rending and conversa
tion. A valuable work of reference.
Low Life In New York. A series of vivid pen pMWW
«!i»wing tlie dnrk side of life in the great city. Tlhistraleti.
The Road to Wealth. Not an advertising circular,
tint a thoroughly practical work, pointing out away uy
which all may make monev. easily, rapidly and honestly.
One Hundred Populnr hong*. sentimental bathetic
ind coinfc. Including most of the favorites, new nnd old.
Sir Xoel's Heir. A Novel. By Mrs May Aonks Fleming.
A Bartered Life. A Novel. Bv M arion H miland.
An Old Man’s SacrUJcc. A Novel. By Mrs. Ann S.
■ ’•' L
oni Ro \ 1) LAW.
Can the road b»w of ( battooga
county be executed according to its I
letter and spirit? Can we !>»«■' such .
roads as the enforcement of the |
law would supply? Iu other words j
is our road law practicable? Let us
state in general term/ the road law.
Tlie roads are under ol’ e control
of a Supervisor who is paid bC”' 1 1(11
general and extra servi •■>. H• m
have th ■ roads worked under public i
or private contra”', these contracts j
i specifying the kind and anioiint '
jof work to be done, and contracts
under bon 1 to comply with their •
obligations, ('.mtraet r/s have four
days labor or its equivalent in'mon
ey of all parson- subject to road I
duty and an ad litional amount of
25 per cent on state tax, less Super
visor’s salary and expenses. De-
I fault in labor is subject to lino or
imprisonment, default in tax is j
subject to execution. Supervisors;
jas well as contractors default is;
I subject bfith to line and partial or i
. total forfeiture on bond.
In what respect is th” law defect- i
ive? Has not the Supervisor three
; hundred 'lays and can ii•• n “ pass
over ev ry mile of piblin rind ini
’ the county, at least on • ■ a month
i during that time?
What is a g >o I ro id ? T int which
iis termed a first class r> id should
be thirty feet wide an t clear ’d of
. I all obstructions above an 1 below,
ever hanging !::nb«, pr j"-'ing
; roots, stones, stump; and logs as
dwell as true’, b: di ’ an I hnl-s.
. j The roa 1 b ■ 1 sho il.i !> ■ fr > n six to
'! eight feet wid ■, t'r' > v i up in the
i center of th ? rial gently s! , >:;ig
; from the cent o’’ th ■b ■ 1 i,i ' L
> direction, to drain th ■ be 1 L i ; i her
' extreme of the road sid”, where wa-
■ ter in.l7 b ■ carrie lin a tr.?neh, with
1 no shoulder next to th ■ roa I, to
s<s*n - low pl l . - * an 1 thmice trans
' mitted by ditches, pr iperly bridged
■ if across th • road, to alja • mt field
' or w > >ls. Bri I j’S wli ’t'i”r of ston ■
or of sawn timber, shrill b 1 six
teen feet loitg with abn'en'mts of
• durable material. Swamps, bogs,
; and moist places should likewise be
thiar.vn up and th -bl mac idamis
ed. Hills should be cut down and
with this dirt hollows should be
raised, so that no hill should have
an acclivity of over one foot ascent
in thirty feet of distance. The
same discript.ion will apply to sec
ond class roads, save that they
should be twenty feet wide anil
bridges twelve feet long. If 'moun
tain roads are not to be of either of
these widths they should have nu
merous turnouts. The roads should
be put and kept in this condition
luring the entire year, due allow
ance being made for unusual storms
’ of wind or rain and repairs to be
thereafter made as soon as practi
■able. Can our roads be put and
® kept in this condition? This is to
ask, can th? law be enforced? 'Ti’.ey
“ can be gradual'y put in this condi-
tion if the work done from year to '
year is permanent in its nature.
What authority or power has the |
Supervisor, or how can he control
road working? His power ia mak
ing r.iad contracts is almost unlim- I
ited and herein is the great secret 1
of success. Let us suppose a case: j
suppose the Supervisor, who has
four months notice of the duties of I
his oflic” previous to his entering
m their discharge, passes over the |
roads, thoroughly inspects them 1
and notes down wliat each section
of road fails of filling the descrip
tion herein given, estimates the cost :
distinctly makes these specifications 1
in his several contracts, covering
every foot of road therein, and re-
a part of the work to
be compretffd in time to review tin 1
roads and Finite reporu thereof to
the of .S'.ip’rior Court,
and in a f >?!■- iture of con-
c■■ t 1 b. Teen
r< ci: ” c w, t■ .•
f
The Forcclllnl Ruble*. A Novel. By M. T. CAi.nore,
The Old Oiil.en < he*t. A Novel. By Sylvancb Cobb, Jr.
The Pcurl of the Ocean. A Novel. By Claba Auuusta.
Hollow Ash Hull. A Novel. By Mahuamet Blount.
Hlugtrateft.
tllflc House. A Novel. By Ett aW. PiKjirn. *
I nder the Lilacs. A Novel. By tho Author of “ Dor» *
Thonie."
The Diamond Bracelet. A Novel. Ty Mn. Hxxvt
Wood. Illustrated.
The Lawyer’s Secret. A NovcS. Ry Ml«* M. E. Rraddow.
The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll und Mr. Hyde. A
Novel. By R. L. Stkve.nron.
A Wicked Girl. A Novel. By Mary Cecil Hat.
Lndy Walworth’s Diamonds. A Novel. By “Tns
Dt't'HESS.”
Between Two Sins. A Novel. By the author of •• Dora
Thorne." Illustrated.
The Nine of Heart*. A Novel. By B. L. Farjeon,
DoHh’m Fortune. A Novel. By Florence Warden.
A Low Marriage. A Novel. By Miss Mulock. Hint,
The Guilty River. A Novel. By Wilkik Collins.
The Pol-oii of Asp*. A Novel. By Florence Marryat.
Mont Grange. A Novel. By Mre. Henry Wood.
Forging the Fetter*. A Novel. By Mrs. Alexander.
A Piny wrlght’a Daughter. A Novel. By Mr#, annig
Edwards. Illustrated.
Fair but FiiJac. A Novel. By the author of "Dora
Thorne.” Illustrated.
Lancaster’s Cabin. A Novel. By Mrs. M. V. Victor.
Illustrated. „ .
Florence Ivington’s Oath. A Novel. By Sirs. Mary
A. Denison Illustrated.
The Woman Rater. A Novel. By Dr. J. B. Koi ixson.
Illustrated. . ,
The C alifornia Cabin. A Novel. Sr XL F . . <-r..x.
j tember term, with like forfeiture,
1 and the whole road to be thus kept
j until the first day of the ensueing
January. Let his contracts be ad
vertised and let out early in Janua
ry, so that work may commence in
1 that month and so that he may have
; the capital ion tax all collected be
fore he makes his report to the
March court. Thus hands can
. work at-a leisure time as under
the old law and tax will bo due
when work is due and when the peo
have the money.
i g ose a Supervisor should
evert spcvilication
; compliance a itu
• , L < , ,~1 nforce punish-
111 his contract arid <>. 1
ment against rill defailltb.
Ino certificate of labor wbiv.' 'l'' l
not specify four days labor and 1 1
porting tile condition of the roa<U
twice a year to the Grand Jury.
What would bo the result at the
close of tlie year? Would not even
good citizen sustain him? Would
I not a healthy public opinion ami
the law commend him? Or if al)
1 these failed, would not the Snper
, visors know that the time and labor
of road hands had not been wasted
! and that his own salary, as well as
tlie amount paid to Contractors,
had been faitlifully and justly ear
j ned? Finally, would we not have
such roads as the law cont 'nipliites
and all goad citizens desire? These
I views are written, not to reflect Oil
any thing done in the past, nor to
1 dictate to any officer for the future,
certainly hot to provoke any con
i troversy or discussion relative to
our road laivorib ' Xecut ion.
Tax I’ai‘eh.
FREE COLUMN FOR FARMERS.
Mr. Louis Rhinebeart wants in
j formation of a 2 years old muley
heifer, smooth crop oil'left ear; last
| seen near John Elder’s. Strayed
I -L’b'.
I). Crumley wants information
of a two-year-old heifer which
strayed from his house last June.
Its head and sides are black and
back and breast white, umarked,
• muley headed.
1 Tlie ladies arc invited to call at
J. S. Cleghorn <Sr Go’s and get one
of those French Imported Patterns,
with printed directions, to cut their
new dress by, if the}’ want the cor
-1 rect style.
A. J. Henderson, of Chattooga
. ville, wants information of a two
I year old bull which strayed from
his place two mqntlis ago. Red,
i-1 with white back, crop and half un
der crop off the left ear.
[ Strayed from Lookout mountain
1 some cattle branded on right side
. with J. C., smooth crop off both ears
3 and a label in the end of right ear
■ | with ray address on it. Any infor
. ; mation thankfully received. My
■ postoffice address is Duck Creek,
, 1 Ga. J. M. Ci.akksox.
I will sell cheap for cash a good.
-1 irentle work-horse, six years old;
. 1 _ 1 ™:i .1.
also a number one good milch cow
: witn second calf. I 'wish to rent
I land to some one who can
furnish themselves and their own
( stock. Land sufficient for two horse
' crop. My post-office address'-is
! Teloga Springs, Ga. E. M. Story.
Strayed on Lookout mountain 1
- mule colt about one and a half
■ years old—horse mule, light bay, or
some would call it sorrel, will;
black or Brindle stripes on his legs,
! branded with the letter H on left
shoulder. When last seen was be
tween Wat Ellison’s and where Win.
■ Kellett was killed. I will pay $5
,to any one who will take him up
: and notify me. My address is Sum
merville, Ga. J. C. Hutchins.
BRrtS BFAPW ►‘AHOY COODS,
Rhk i!jSY'A RT novelties,
EaWIfaSWPTI CHRISTMAS CARDS,
Albums Pocket Books, Pictures. Bronzes. Bisques,
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LUDDEN & BATES So^ r A n^ u A^^ uso
