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jist nat’ly wasted away till she was nothin’ but skin and bone, and she died; but, poor creater, she died mighty happy; and I think, in my heart, she made the prettiest corpse, considerin’, of anybody I most ever seed. Mrs, R. and Mrs. S. Emph! (sol emnly). (Mrs. R. What did the doctojrs give her for the fever and ager? Mrs. B. Oh, they gin’ her a ’bun dance o’ truck; I don’t know what all. But at last she got over it, somehow or other. If they’d have jist gin’ her a sweat o’ bitter yerbs, jist as the spell was cornin’ on, it would have cured her right away. Mrs. R. Well, I reckon sheep-saf fron the onliest thing in natur for the ager. Mrs. B. I’ve always hearn it was wonderful in hives and measly ail ' ments. Mrs. R. Well, it’s just as good for an anger; it’s a powerful sweat. Mrs. Clarkson told me, that her cou sin, Betsy’s aunt Sally’s Nancy, was cured sound and well by it, of a hard shaking ager. Mrs. S. Why, you don’t tell me so! Mrs. R. Oh. bless your heart, hon ey, it’s every word true; for she told me so with her own mouth. Mrs. S. A hard, hard shakin’ ager! Mrs. R. Oh, yes, honey; it’s the truth. Mrs. 8. Well, I’m told that if you’ll wrap the inside skin of an egg ’round your little finger, and go three days reg’lar to a young persimmon, and tie a string ’round it, and every day tie three knots in it, and then not go ag’in for three days, that the ager will leave you. Mr§. B. I’ve often hearn o’ that, but I don’t know about it. Some people don’t believe in it. Mrs. S. Well, Davy Cooper’s wife told me she didn’t believe in it; but she tried it, and it cured her sound and well. % Mrs. R. I’ve hearn of many folks bein’ cured in this way. And what did they do for Lucy’s cough, Mis’ Barney? Mrs. B. Oh, dear me, they gin’ her a powerful chance o’ truck. I reckon, first and last, she took at least a pint o’ lodimy. Mrs. S. and Mrs. R. The Law! Mrs. 8. Why, that ought to have killed her, if nothing else. If they’d jist gin’ her a little cumfy and ale campane, stewed in honey, or sugar, or molasses, with a little lump o’ mutton-suet or butter in it, it would have cured her in two days, sound and well. Mrs. B. I’ve always counted cum fry and alecampane the lead of all yerbs for colds. Mrs.’ 8. Horehound and sugar’s ’mazin’ good. Mrs. B. Mighty good, mighty good. Mrs. R. Powerful good. I take mightily to a sweat of sage tea in desperate bad colds. Mrs. 8. And so do I, Mis’ Reed. Indeed, I have a great leanin’ to sweats of yerbs, in all ailments, sich as colds, and rheumaty pains, and pleurisies, and sich; they’re wonder ful good. Old brother Smith came to my house from Bethany meeting in a mighty bad way with a cold and a cough, gJid his. throat and nose all stopped up; seemed like it would ’most take his breath away; and it was dead o’ winter, and I had noth in’ but dried yerbs, sich as camomile, sage, pennyryal, catmint, horehound, and sich; so I put a hot rock to his feet, and made him a large bowl o’ catmint tea, and I reckon he drank most two quarts of it through the night, and it put him in a mighty fine sweat, and loosened all the phleem, and opened all his head; and the next morning, says he to me, says he, Sister Shad—you know he’s a migh ty kind spoken man, and always was so ’fore he joined society; and the old man likes a joke yet right well, the old man does; but he’s a mighty good man, and I think he prays with greater lifity than most any one of his age I most ever seed, don’t you think he does, Mis’ Reed? Mrs. R. Powerful. Mrs. B. Who did he marry? Mrs. S. Why, he married—stop, I’ll tell you directly. Why, what does make, my old head forget so? Mrs. B. Well, it seems to me I don’t remember like I used to. Did’nt he marry a Ramsbottom? Mrs. R. No. Stay; I’ll tell you who he married presently. Oh, stay! why, I’ll tell you who he married! He maried old Daddy Johnny lloo er’s da’ter, Mournin’. Mrs. 8. Why, la messy on me, so he did! Mrs. B. Why, did he many a Hooer? Mrs. 8. Why, to be sure lie did. You know Mournin’. Mrs. B. Oh, mighty well; but I’d forgot that brother Smith married her; I really thought he married a Ramsbottom. Mrs. R. Oh, no; bless your soul, honey, he married Mournin’. Mrs. B. Well, the law me; I’m clear beat! Mrs. S. Oh, it’s so; you may be sure it is. Mrs. B. Emph, emph, emph, emph! And Brother Smith married Mourn in’. Well, I’m clear put out! Seems to me I’m gittin’ mighty forgetful, somehow. Mrs. 8. Oh, yes; he married Mournin,’ and I saw her when she joined society. Mrs. B. Why, you don’t tell me so! Mrs. 8. Oh, it’s the truth. She didn’t join till after she was married, and the church took on mightily about his marrying one out of society. But after she joined they all got satisfied. Mrs. R. Why, la me! the seven stars is ’way over here! Mrs. B. Well, let’s light our pipes, and take a short smoke, and go to bed. How did you come on raisin’ chickens this year, Mis’ Shad? Mrs. S. La messy, honey! I have had mighty bad luck. 1 had the pret tiest parcel you most ever seed till the varment took to killin’ ’em. Mrs. R. and Mrs. B. The varment! Mrs. S. Oh, dear, yes. The hawk catched a powerful sight of them; and then the varment took to ’em and nat’ly took to ’em ’fore and aft, bodily, till they left most none at all hardly. Sucky counted ’em up t’other day, and there warn’t but thirty-nine, she said, countin’ in the old speckle* hen’s chickens that jist come off of her nest. Mrs. R. and B, Humpb-h-h-h! THE WEEKLY JEFFERSONIAN. Mrs. R. Well, I’ve had bad luck, too; Billy’s hound dog broke up all my nests. Mrs. B. Well, so they did me, Mis’ Reed. I always did despise a hound dog upon the face of yea’th. yea’th. Mrs. R. And them thta was hatch est, squallinest, thievishest things ever was about one; but Billy will have ’em, and I think in my soul his old Troup’s the beat of all creators I ever seed in all my born days, a suckin’ o’ hen’s eggs. He’s clean most broke me up entirely. Mrs. 8. The lackaday! hr • Mrs. R. And then that was hatch ed out, some took to takin’ the gaps, and some the pip, and one ailment or other, till they most all died. Mrs. 8. Well, I reckon there must be somethin’ in the season this year that ain’t good for fowls; for Lar kin Goodman’s brother, Jimmie’s wife’s aunt Penny, told me she lost most all her fowls with different sorts of ailments, the like of which she never seed before. They’d jist go ’long lookin’ right well, and tilt right over backwards (Mrs. B. The law!) and die right away (Mrs. R. Did you ever!) with a sort o’ some thin’ like blind staggers. Mrs. B. and Mrs. R. Messy on me! Mrs. B. I reckon they must have eaten somethin’ didn’t agree with them. Mrs. S. No, they didn’t, for she fed ’em every mornin’ with her own hands. Mrs. B. Well, it’s mighty cu rious. A short pause ensued, which was broken by Mrs. Barney with, “And Brother Smith married Mournin’ Hooer!” It came like an opiate upon my senses, and I dropped asleep. The next morning, when we rose from our beds we found the good la dies sitting round the fire just as I left them, for they rose long before us. Mrs. Barney was just in the act of ejaculating, “And Brother Smith married Mournin’—” when she was interrupted by our entry into the dining-room. We were hardly seat ed before Mrs. Reed began to verify her promise. “Mr. ,” said she to Ned, “didn’t you say, last night, that them was two men that got married to one another?” “Yes, madam,” said Ned. “And didn’t you say they raised a fine parcel of children?” “Yes, madam, except Billy. I said, you know, that he was a little wild.” “Well, yes; I know you said Billy wasn’t as clever as the rest of them. But we old women were talking about it last night after you went out, and none of us could make it out how they could have children; and I said, I reckoned you wouldn’t mind an old woman’s chat; and, therefore, that I would ask you how it could be? I suppose you won’t mind tellin an old woman how it was?” “Certainly not, madam. They were both widowers before they fell in love with eachother and got mar ried.” “The lackaday! I wonder none of us thought o’ that, and they had children before they got married?” “Yes, madam; they had none af terwards that I heard of.” We were here informed that* our horses were in waiting, and we bade the good ladies farewell. BALDWIN. It K H ALGER AND McKINLEY. The Milwaukee Journal publishes a statement said to have been given by the late Russell A. Alger, to be withheld till his death. It is to the effect that while President McKinley three times refused Alger’s resigna tion as secretary of war when he was under grave accusations of incompe tency or worse, a mere political al liance by Alger with Governor Pin gree against Senator McMillan sc “annoyed and embarrassed” the president that he had Vice-president Hobart see Alger about it, and after ward in person practically demanded that the “alliance” cease. McMillan, the statement says, was regarded by Mr. McKinley as a strong adminis tration man, though, as Alger recalls he supported Thomas B. Reed for the nomination. The story strangely confirms the popular notion of the whole Algei episode. Having yielded his own am bition to be president and delivered the votes of Michigan, Alger took his reward in the war portfolio. Having entered the cabinet, not as an effi cient man for the place, but as a pol itician, his shortcomings as a depart ment chief were overlooked, but his alleged disloyalty as a politician was regarded as serious. Alger says Mc- Kinley had many engaging qualities but “lacked backbone.” McKinley’s estimate of Alger is not available. * It INTERESTING ITEMS. The mines of the world employ about 3,300,000 men. Taking the statistics for the entire world four and a half persons to the thousand are either deaf, dumb, blind or mentally deficient. The contractors who are boring a tunnel through Lookout Mountain for the Southern Railway report that 3»- 600 feet have been completed during the thirteen months and fifteen days of operations. Benjamin F. Shively of Indiana takes the field as an aspirant for second place on the Democratic national ticket in 1908. but the printing of his name as Shiverly makes a frosty opening for his boom. Up to date it costs an alien $35 in fees to become a nationalized Briton, and he must wait five years and then produce evidence as to character. A government bill is to be Introduced to reduce the fees probably to $5. M George Trollope, an English actor of considerable note, has forsaken the stage and will enter the Catholic priesthood. Strange as it may seem, the first play in which he appeared was "The Sign of the Cross.” •e The late Hamilton Aide was a cu riously versatile man. He was the au thor of many novels, verses and es says; he was a more or less popular composer; he turned out divers suc cessful dramatic pieces and he paint ed landscapes described as pleasing. The blood of antipathetic races was in his veins. He was the son of an English mother and an Armenian- Greek father. 11