Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME -VU.
PROFESSION* CaldS.
1
Lawyers.
K OBERT k. MASSEY,
Attorney at Law.
(Office in front room, Dorsett’s building.) ]
Will practice anywhere except in the County ,
Court of Douglas county.
yy a. james, jay mil
Sj, ' A " .
a. Douglasville, Ga.
Will practice in all the courts. State and
Federal. Office on Cpurt-house Square.
WM. T. ROBERTS,
V V
Attorney at L aw,
Douglasville, Ga.
Will practjctfe ail the courts. All legal bus
iness will r&eive prompt attention. Office in
court-house.
d.- camp. •
Attorney at Law.
•W oj v j] E n gj neer and Surveyor,
Douglasville, Ga.
s
|> (i. GJUtiUH,
, Attorney at Law.
Douglasville, Ga
Will practice in all the courts, State and
Fedorak
JOHN M. EDGE,
Attorney at Law,
, Douglasville, Ga.
Will practice irt bli the courts, and prompt
y attend to all bnslii««M elrfrustwDto bis care.
1 H. JAMES.
tj * t
Attorney at Law,
k Douglasville, Ga
/ will practice in the courts of Douglas,
Campbrn, (‘Stroll, Paulding. Gobb, Fulton
ami adjoining nouutiee. Prompt attention
jufh to all ImsifM-KS.
JOHN V. EDGE,
* A torne.v *t Law,
Douglasville, Ga.
gfishM ;^S==S=£ 3
Doctors.
.... pi;.' i ij.’niiin . I
Phyeifcian and Surgeon
*# Douglasville, Ga
i J
Spccial.wttMvUMi M mm! Chronic dis- s
g I
oSt JjSrtt’* Liek building.
p WftDERY'
Physician and Surgeon.
Office djjßjSfr* ll whare
he eau hHfbmhl £^>all ; iiour«, except when
Hp»«->al attention
given to ctHR and especially all cates
that bavi&*dMretiSai and
■ as ■r y
IREKi'it “iwrLt#iK«»y ifevW as shy-
atMM&
' '*’* ' MNMb ’W
day, and at night
at. tn’jN||te«Wl!W, stWe "Wuse recently occu
pied by J. A. littuun.
J. B. EDGE.
T. *
®* Pental Surgeon.
Hat toeafed in Twenty years’
•xperieuoe. Dentistry iu *Hit» branches done
iu the most «pprcvc»d style. Office over poat
offioe.
Painter.
rjl B. BUTLER.
■
11 Homa Painter,
m W
Doug’asville, Ga
Wdi make old furniture look as well aa new.
<Mve him a trial in »hu Hue. Will abto do
fa.sTM" carpctderiuK work.
That Made a Difference.
“Now.” aqM *ba ratfroad prasaldont,
as he sAt <fowfe «>th ihw seeretary.
«m dkUUwgad te fellows;
, ‘We cottgrafdafe stofekholdersion the
improved condition Will© J. & J.' *
“W»y. we are tn pressing need of 50
miles a* “ 0W rail *’ Bev onty-iive cars.
: A " and half a doaen of new locomotives!"
* said the secretary.
U “That’s all right, air; gw on with the
7 BfrcuiaU Say: ‘The net earnings of
the road warrant us in predicting that
the next dividend will ”
“Bat we can't even pay th® Interest
on <mr mortgages,” inturrupuad the
secretary.
“Mr. Secretary, this h a circular!
♦•Yea, air; but why °
“A circular to the public. sir.”
“I know, but such mats——"
• A ntremar to be sent to Europe to
indue* a demand for our stock! ’ ihan
dered the president
that's it. ch! Oh. well,
that alter* the ease? We sure warrant
ed in predivd'ig a January dividend of
plight i«er cent, of course.”'— M ali St
i The WefUy Star
The I’Baintftn Ship
We touch Life’s shore as swimmers from a
wreck
Who shudder at the cheerless land they
reach.
And find their comrades gathered on the
beach
Watching a fading sail, a small white speck—
The phantom sMp, upon whose ample deck
Their seemed awhile a homeward place for
'stifi wring'tlmir ’hands and still
beseech.
But see, it fades, in spite of prayer and beck.
Let those who hope for brighter shores no
more
Notmourn,but turning(pJaad brqygly Feek.
wjMßddeeWblih red«fe tm sbap. H
TlJ&r’ nJmwSt buildUfestf,«abi’i®W the*
weak;
Must plant and stint; must sow and reap and
store;
For grain takes root though all seems bare
and bleak.
—Eugene Lee Hamilton.
FOR HIS MOTHERS SAKE.,
_ Unmarried at twenty-two. I ;Was
'rich, entirely nxy own mistress, and
considered more than pretty; and still,
in spite of many excellent opportuni
ties to change my condition, 1 was rap
idly drifting on towards old-maiden
hood; no wonder people called me hard
to please.
I hadL admirers and suitors in plenty;
where; is the heiress who has not? And
two men loved me.
I say? “two men.” There were many
who made professions, and of whose
sincerity I have no means' to judge, but
these two I can answer for as for my
self, and I know they loved me.
Never were two people more unlike
each other, in looks, in taste, disposi
tion, temper, everything. It seemed
tlfe strangest thing in the world that
both should fancy me.
Even their respective circumstances
and positions in life offered a striking
contrast. George Redfern was a
wealthy and influential banker, forty
years of age, grave, quiet, and reserved
in manner, and with an indisputable
and enviable standing in society—a
man against whom no breath of re-
E roach or blame had ever stirred; while
Robert Dene —my Robert, whom I loved
—was comparatively poor, having on
ly his salary as conlideutial clerk iuthe
Redfern bank (out of which he support
ed a widowed mother), and was one of
those merry, cheerful, light-hearted
fellows who somehow—perhaps from
their love of company and pleasure—
get the name of being “wild," without
deserving it. Certain it is that Robert
merited no word of evil, though there
was a time when it looked otherwise.
Mrs. Dene had been my dear.dcad
mother's friend. Naturaßy I often
went to visit her. She was a great in
valid. and hardly ever went out, ex
cept for an occasional quiet drive with
her devoted son. who idolised her; so
much so that I grew positively jmi
otis.
For Robert and I understood each
other, as lovers will. He was very sen
sitive and high-minded. 1 thought, at
first, that because I was an heiress he
would never the love I knew he
fell, and which 1 longed to hear; but
'flm Aveleoiue dfElaratibn oninp at
I Mr. Redfern t<r2 th«fek Mr
it. I met him at Mrs.
oneoven fag. when he had to
speak to Robert on some business, hav
ing chanced to see him in the garden ’
jts he was ruling past.
I was at the window, leaning out,and
iiofiwm<| I knew, thaiJ
that was tlte reason he asionUhed Rob
ert, by accepting his invitat on to come
In.
wn,go
etv, «md fat-iFing the
TO'
He teiok w gfmuo to ■
balls, theatres, operas; and when Ihad
met him a good many limes, he re
quested permission to call on me.
Robert heard of it, and grew jealous.
One evening he came to me, his dear
handsome face looking gloomy and sad
©no igh.
“We have boon friends for years,”
said he, “and I believe you like me
well enough to grant me' a favor. I
love you. Kate. That’s no news to
yon; is it? Well, I never should have
told you so—never should have asked
you to become my wife, because you
are rich and I am poor; but. my girl, I
can’t stead quietly fey and see another
lake what I'd have died to win; so I
want vo« to tell me truly if you intend
to marry Redfern, and if it’s ‘yes.’ I
shall go out of the country, and stay
out until 1 can get over it.’’
Oh, the happy girl I was when I
heard him! The precious 1 had
longed for were spoken at last He
might have seen the joy in my face. I
felt my cheeks burn, and mv eyes grow
bright with happiness; but lie kept his
fa<'e gloomily turned away.
So 1 stole up to him, half shy, half
bold, all joyfir, aud slipped my hands
about his arm.
“And can you ‘get over it,’ do you
think?” I asked demurely.
He looked at me then, and disengage
ed bis arm. He thought I was trifling
, with his pain, and was vexed at me.
“This is no jest with me. Miss Crav
en, whatever it may be to you,” he said
quite sharply; “I did not expect that
you would "make it one. Yes." very
, coldly. “I am not a love-sick fool I
do suppoee I sh&ll get over iu”
I looked at him reproachfully. I felt
I the tears spring to my eyes at his words
; and tone.
“You don't love me as I love you.
then, Robert.” I said softly: “for if you
go awav and leave me so. I’m afraid I
I never shall get oxer it.”
| “Oh. mv darling!V
I How qnfekly fete face brightened as
| he caught my hand!
“You say that. Kate? You mean it?
| You don't love Redfera—you won't
FAWNING TO N’ONE—CHARITY TO JAtX.
L •_■ - . - .-.r> U-- . -- -.-- -■ Tr- T. , „
DQUGkASVILEE GEORGIA, THURSDAY, AUGUST 13,1885.
B ® H A . * . .
“I lovte yod," I answered, as his dear
arms clasped me close; “and you only
will I marry."
And so we were engaged. And Rob
ert drove me over to the cottage, there
and then, to teH his mother.
“She will be so pleased," he said. “I
believe that she suspected my feelings.
But ! would not Cmfide them to her,
lest the fear of disappointment and
pain to me should distress her."
How he loved her! A little jealous
pang shot through my foolish heart.
• “f fesr*you love her best," I said im-
ho saia -
ly, “one does not measure
suqh sacred loves; each
‘dearest.’ But my mother seffefAWHS
an affection of the heart. Au
or pain must injure her,’ and a sudden
shock would kill."
And then it was I first understood
rightly his devoted care of her, a care
in which, from that hour, I shared.
Next day Mr. Redfern proposed to
me. My heart, in spite of its own hap
piness, ached for the bitter pain he
shewed when I told him I was engaged
already.
*T had set my aver# hope on you—
I cannot give you up!" he cried, with
an intensity of passion that startled
me. “Oh,'child, have mercy on me!
Think again—give me time. lam rich
er than you think; if you are ambitious
n
I interrupted him.
“I am not; I have wealth enough,and
covet only happiness. I shall marry
Robert Dene, the man I love."
His face was white as death.
“You shall not marry him!" he said
with a deep and bitter oath. “Never,
while I live! I swear it!"
And he rushed out of my presence
like a madman, leaving me shocked,
frightened, perplexed, and with a
strange sad cloud upon my happiness.
I said nothing about it to Robert,
however. His relations with his em
ployer continued pleasant, as usual;
and I did not feel justified in disturb
ing them. I felt surprised ivhen he
told me that Mr. Redfern had himself
congratulated him, and made some
slight but graceful allusion to the dis
appointment to himself; but I conclud
ed to keep silence still. What was the
use of creating ill-will between them?
“Probably," I thought, “Mr. Redfern
regrets his intemperate warmth and
foolish words, and takes this method to
let me know of it."
And I
too —infinitely
sonal apology
So the time
began the prep >• aw
riage, and our engagement was under
stood everywhere, when the storm
which instinct had warned me of frQßk.
the moment in which I had beard tW?
bitter threatening oath, burat suddenly.
It was evening, and Robeißand I
were sitting together, talking* such
sweet nonsense as lovers wilSfe—We
zrfez: u trx
I asleep in her easy-chair, when sudden
! ly and unceremoniously the floor was
open wide, and three men en
*Wo of them were officers- The in-
• dignation which their rude entrance
caused, gave place to sickening fear
when I saw the third —George Red
fernl
I He fixed his hollow, burning eyes up
on m«v Even in. that- moment of ex
citement I was sensible of a shocked
surprise oLthe strange change in him
since last we met.
“Men, do your duty," he said briefly.
Next minute Robert was . under ar
fl don't know what I said dr did in the
first horror of it I remember clinging
around-Robert’s neck, and being pulled
away—by auntie, I think—and some
one asking, “What’s the charge against
him?" Then came the stern answer
from George Redfern’s lips: “Koi>l
beryl"
With that word my senses came back
to me. I tore myself from auntie’s
arms and flew to my lover’s side.
“It’s a lie!" I cried, looking straight
into Redfern’s face. “He is innocent!":
Robert turned grateful troubled eyes
upon me.
“God bless you, my true love!" he
murmured sadly.
And then Redfern’s stern low voice
broke in again:
“Men, search him!”
1 saw it done. I saw them dBMv;
forth a roll of notes—ten—of twenty
five pounds each, and forming a larger
sum than Robert could have come by
rightly. I heard Redfern identify them
as his own, and declare that none but
Robert had access to the safe or vault
And then I heard Robert say, with a
moan of agony:
•Oh, God! My mother!”
1 understood it all. I stepped up to
George Redfern, and looked into his
face.
‘Cool with me into another room,"
I said- “I will make a bargain with
you. Let your men remain with their
primmer hero.” And he obeyed me.
When we were alone, I said passion
ately:
“Mr. Redfern, you are a villain! You
have j dot ted to separate me from the
man 1 love, and blast his reputation.
’ You shall fail in both- You know that
‘ he is innocent”
He answered quietly:
“1 am not his judge. Miss Craven.
1 He himself will tell you that I placed
those notes in the safe in his presence,
and that no one has since had access to
! it but himself. An hour ago 1 missed
them. You saw where they were
found. Let the law decide th© rest."
I wrung mv hands in agony.
' “The law!' I cried. “Man,
not know he has a mother
' charge will kill? Will you be a mur
-6 derer?”
He caught my hand.
“No," he said hoarsely. “It is you
—not I. You murder two of us, his
mother—when she learns the story of
his guilt, from which you could save
her —and me—you murder me!—for the
hour that sees you marry him sees mo
a«corpse."
I snatched my hand away.
“I will marry him," I cried, “if the
whole world, calls hjm guilty!"
He answered quietly:
“And kill his mother?”
What could I do? Turn as I would,
he brought me back to that at last.
The son’s imnrisonment on a shamo
Wd. probgble condemna
tfoiv-for'laid—
” ' he of-
rfjjfSv . I th o
manT ’of th©
man I hated.
“Never while I live," he said.
That was my oath, and I have kept it.
We went back together. George
Redfern formally withdrew the charge
he made, and gave one of the notes to
each officer as a bribe for silence.
So Robert and I were parted, and his
mother’s life was saved.
And the world wondered, and called
me a coquette, and “hard to please;”
and a year went by and found me twen
ty-two—unmarried still—Robert’s true
love still—and miserable.
How many times had I seen George
Redfern dururg that vear? More than
a hundred times. He had come to me
praying, pleading for love—oh, how
vainly! Often as ! saw him, though,
I noted how he changed—so terribly—
so rapidly! Worn almost to a shadow.
Pale, with all the life in him seeming to
be centereddn his burning eyes. They
seemed lit with the fires of madness.
Poor George Redfern! It would be
hard if I should not give him pity who
gave me sb much love.
The end came suddenly. One win
ter’s night a messenger summoned the
two whom he had wronged to his bed
side. He was dying.
Just the same as ever—strange,
abrupt, half-crazed. He took Robert’s
hand without noticing me, and stared
into his eyes.
“I’ve brought you pain and sorrow,
haven’t I? Ah, that’s nothing! You
have brought me down to death. I
loved that woman—loved her. Ah,
Heaven, that doesn’t express it! I be
came a villain for her sake. I liked
you, Robert. I meant to make you
partner some day. Kato,” turning sud
xJfenlx
. N > matter;
with him
- ’Wr a flf' qufat morn
in g he was cold and quiet too -at rest.
“You may marry her very soon," h©
said in dying, “but not while I live.”
* Poor George Rediorn! He lov®|jfM>
gyell. I weflfed life spring daisies on
<iis grave with tears before 1 took the
freedom that his death had given. Af
ter that 1 laid sorrow by and married
Robert. v
. He was rich now, and his mother to
this day believed it was a lovers’ quar
rilsl .that kept as apart so long. Better
so, for thus the memory of the man
Who sought to blast our lives, and lost
his own, is spared. And w© can spare
him in his grave, and pity, too.
For my life's romance had a blissfnl
ending, and I am a happy woman after
all.
— ♦. Oil I
A Very Conscientious Reporter.
It is a, breach of confidence for a
member or an officer of the Senate to
disclose the transactions of a secret ses
sion, until the removal of the injunc
tion of secrecy by a formal resolution of
that body. Stiil, newspaper corres
pondents generally manage to find them
out, in some way*. Jjo well known wo
their ;n this direction,
that senators would oftentimes go to
the reporters for information as to what
had been done in secret session, instead
of the reporters to the senators! Once,
a senator, going to the Senate rather
late in the afternoon, met a correspond
ent coming from the Capitol. The law-
asked what was being done in
■ the Senate. “Oh, nothing important,"
was the answer. “They have just gone
out of executive session and are now
discussing the subject they had up yes
terday.” The senator was cvitiently
interested in some nomination or other
business, and so he persisted and asked
the correspondent what action had been
taken in executive session. The news
paper man coolly eyed the senator for
a few moments, and then cautiously re
marked: “Well, you Congressmen’ are
fatting to be such free talkers, 1 think
d better not tell you!”—Edmund
lon, in SI. Nicholas for f'kbruGry.
A Dog With a Memory.
A letter carrier got a summons in the
Jefferson Market Police Court the oth
er day for the owner of a greyhound.
The carrier said the dog always attack
ed him on his rounds through Bleecker
street.
Soon after the postman went away
the owner of the animal appeared in
court with the dog. The brute, he
said, was worth SIOO. According to
ifeamaster the greyhound was kicked
by a postman while a puppy in Buffalo,
and although years have elapsed since
then, the dog cannot now see a grey
uniform without evincing a strong de
sire to attack the wearer.
While in court another postman
came in to deliver the Justice's mail,
and the dog was with difficulty
restrained from jumping on him,
but when Officer Murray step
ped to the carrier's side the dog be
fccame quiet This, the owner said,
the dog's respect for a blue
cost, which it had been trained to re
spect as representing law and order.—
A: F. Herald, _ . .
GLEANINGS.
The population of the Congo basin is
estimated at 80,000,000.
Dr. Rawitz, of Berlin, has discovered
that snails in captivity can live on
paper.
Nearly five thousand patents on
churns have been issued in this country
alone.
There is a glacier in Alaska moving
along at the rate of a quarter of a mile
a year.
With the exception of Hayes all the
Presidents since Lincoln have been
' smokers.
A fair quality of artificial stone is
made of equal parts of Ifaio and feafed.
( It costs about the same W’foribk.
( The Italian funds have lately been
quoted as nearly the same figures'as
the English. In 1866 they stood at 36.
Just sixteen years ago the interest on
> the national debt amounted to $153,-
i 000,000 a year. It is now $58,000,000.
1 There are 2,800,000,000 copies of
daily, weekly and monthly journals
published annually in America, against
7,300,000,000 copies in Europe.
Penny dinners have proved so popu
lar among the children of the London
, poor that a movement is nowon foot to
provide penny breakfasts. In some
( schools 70 per cent of the children are
unable to procure breakfasts.
i A family of twelve children n6w re
siding in England can count up their
aggregate ages to the figure of 972
■ years. • The youngest is seventy-nine
and the oldest is eighty- nine, the aver-
, age for each of the twelve children be
ing eighty-one years.
Queen Victoria’s determined an-
• nouncement that she shall keep Beat
-1 rice with her after the marriage to the
Impecunious Prince Henry of Batten
berg is believed to be prompted partly
i , by her love for Beatrice and more by
. the belief that she can board the beg
garly Battenberg cheaper than Beat
rice can.
I The Campbellite Church, the denom
, {nation to which Mr. Garfield belonged,
I has purchased 18,000 acres of land, at
, $1.75 per acre, and taken up 20,000
. acres additional, near Redding, Shasta
• county, Cal., on which they intend to
| found a colony. The Campbellites of
St Louis are the prime movers in the
■ enterprise.
Mr, Fro tide is going round the world,
; partly for the sake of his health and
partly because, as he says, “I have
Brown tired—xrf -the ekatter..which Jay
iTast volumes on Carlyle have brought
| forth, and I thought that in six months,
at any rate, the world would forget the -
existence of so unlucky a person as th©
biographer of Carlyle."
Experiments have lately been made
, in WU is to be hoped will®'
lead to a process of heating railway
; 1 carriages by electricity. A Gramme
, machine generates a current that pro
duces heat in boxes similar to the pres
i ent hot-water pans, but which will dis
, ' fer from them in uniformly accomplish
ing the object for which they are de
, signed. •
In the lead production of different
countries Spain holds the first place,
the amount reaching some 120,00 J tons
in one year, or one-sixth more than
America, which comes next on the list,
while Germany follows with 90,000, Os
Spain’s total 'production some 67,000
tons are derived from one district, that
of Linares, in which more than 800
mines are registered.
' There is a Baptist Church in Pittsyl
vania county in which is kept a cradle.
During a single sermon often as many
i as a dozen babies are rocked in it.
A child is not half so apt to make itself
disagreeable in a cradle as in it’s moth-
■ i’sa’t'rKi:
placed in the chqren crftdle.— liidi-
. mond (Fa.) AeligioWi Herald.
After Mr. Thomas Whittaker had
been giving a temperance lecture at
■ the Alexandra palace, London, a friend
said to him: “Why, Thomas, I heard
you say the same things twenty year#
ago. I can’t think how you can go on
repeating the same old stories." “Ah!
> Did you?" replied Mr. Whittaker.
•Well, I’ve heard you lots of times,
and for the life ot me I can’t remem
ber a single thing you ever said.”
The Adams family is renowned for
its diary writing. John Adams began
a diary Nov. 15, 1755, just after his'
twentieth birthday, and continued it
with breaks until Nov. 21, 1777. The
’ diary of his son, John Quincy Adams,
1 was begun soon afterward, and ran
through its course until 1848. It is
said the third generation has done
similar work, so that 100 years of his
tory will be found in the family annals.
—Boston Journal.
Prof. E. L. Ritchel, of Bridgeport,
Conn., has invented a poisonous air
bomb, which is charged with gases
several times compressed and impreg
' naled with poisonous vapors which will
r prove quickly fatal to any creatures
breathing them. With one of them he
killed twenty rats in an inclosure. The
‘ bomb exploded will charge a radius of
’ i 100 feet with silent death. An army
i bombarded with such bombs would
L | have to retreat or be annihilated,
j This is a Laramie, Wyo., criticism on
r ■ a Western actress; “And Stringham—
. . the sublime and beautiful Sadie—how
i shall we find the words to characterize
j • her? She was a symphony in red.
, She had rouge enough on her face to
- ’ paint the town, the general effect being
j highfened by a crimson dress of an
. ’ tique design. She repeated several times
. | that she was ready to ‘beg from door
, I to door to save her starving child,’ and
3 ’ that's about what she will have to do
. I if she depends on the stage for a liv-
■ i in « ” - - . -
NUMBER 27
Mr. Dolby’s book on Dickens as a
lecturer confirms the opinion that
Dickens brought on his death by over
work and dver-exei>eraent. According
to Mr. Dolby, the reading of the mur
der scene in “Oliver Twist" by Dickens
brought up the reader's pulse from its
normal 72 to 118. “0* these occa-
sions he would have to be supported to
his retiring-room and, laid on the sofa
for fully ten minutes before he could
speak a rational or consecutive sen
tence." Yet this reading he gave very
frequently.
The diameter of trees varies not only
from summer to winter, but from day
to day. They are larger from noon to
twilight the next morning than from
twilight until noon ; they are smaller
in the winter th ah in summer. Water
and the sap of trees expand not only in
proportion as they rise above, but also
as they go below the freezing point
Low temperature as well high pro
motes evaporation, and the trees evapo
rate from their branches in winter, and
so the colder the weather the more
they shrink.
When I consider, says Labouchere,
how very few things there are in this
world really worth knowing, and that
most of these can be picked up in con
versation; that reading, writing, and
arithmetic are all that a man wants to
start with in life, and that the largest
fortunes have been reached by men set
ting out with no other equipment. I
can’t believe that it is necessary to
catch a child from Its mother’s arms at
5 (the legal age), and keep him in
school till he is 13, and thereby ruin
health and destroy his happiness, at
the expense of the ratepayers, in order
to give him a fair chance of earning his
living.
Mr. Gladstone is a prowler. Ho
loves back streets. It is no unusual
thing to see him looking in the win
dows of a bric-a-brac store. Summer
days he often strolls from Parliament
to his house in Harley street, an inte
rested spectator of all that is going on
around him. He is not well dressed.
His trousers are generally baggy at the
knee. His tall collars arc always famil
iar in caricatures. He rarely buys a
new hat. He has a strong, hard, bony
face, a powerful a character
istic nose, a firm mouth (a little too
hard in its lines). He would strike the
most ordinary observer as a man cf
great intellectual physique.
Changing the Nose.
its sSape*cam^e^c^ngecT wlth*ea«e. "a
clever Frenchman, some years ago,
invented a machine for that purpose, !
and has made a fortune by it, so many
people are troubled' with noses whose
shapes do not please their o,w«ere or
their owners’ friends. The machine . ,
consisted of a small shell in twp parts,
hinged together. ‘ It is made of-iron
g lined or enameled. It ft in shape
e that of a perfectly molded = nose, F
rdingtothe type of the features
e wearer. Thus you can $ obtain a
an, Grecian, retrousse, aquiline, ,
hr any other shape you desire. To ap
ply the instrument. the nose is first
bathed in warm wafer at bedtime,' and
thoroughly heated and softened? Then
it is well greased with olive oil, glycer- sth
ine, vaseline, or other oily substances.
Finally the nose-improver ..is
and the sides clasped
wearer keeps it on' all night, taking
care in the morning to wash in cold
water only. It is* a rather painful ..pro
cess at first, but after the first'two or t:
three ajipliCations of the - improver jU
there is no more trouble. In ; about a .
month Uie nose begins to-take its new,
shape and at th© end of from eight to
ten weeks the Mteratfori’is' said to be
perfect'and perfcailent—that 8 is, tin
til the patient becomes tired of that
particular shape'Mid is desirous of hav
fag another, .when the same operation
With another instrument isneoessitated.
I have known people change their noses
four or five times In as many years Tn
that way a man could change 'the .style
of his nose as he ’changed the terff of
bis trousers.”— St. Louis Republican. ‘-U
Rules for Press Writerg,
First—When you have filled both sm
lides of the sheet, turn back and cris
cross the lines with some more chirog
raphy. ? This will make you a favorite
sontributor wilh.the “powers that be.”j ||
Second—Always, in sending: an are
tide to the editor, accompany it with’
a note, saying, “This te one of my best;
efforts." He will take your .word fori
It, and accept your effusidn for ‘ publi-;
cation, without reading the same. I
Third—Don’t fail to enclose a good*
supply of postage stamps—not neces-!
larily as a guaranty for the return of
your rejected MB, but the office boy
may need them in corresponding with*
his girL **** ■- ■■ W
Fourth—ls your “rot” is in rhyme,
bring it up in person to the sanctum. (
The Doneyard proprietor—with whom
every newspaper publisher has a con
tract —says that “dead poets make the
best kind of soapfat!"
Fifth—Never “dot your i’s, or cross
your t’s.” In all well-regulated edi-i
' tonal rooms there is a man who is“
; paid a large salary for that special:
duty. ■ :
Sixth—ls you desire remuneration
for a forwarded communication, you
can use your own judgment as regards
drawing on the editor at sight Maybe
he will honor your sight draft, and
maybe not; probably, “not by a d—d
sight!” r j .
Seventh—the last and best rule is,
to muzzle your cacoethes scribendi—
and “write not at all."— Jeff. Joslyn,
w» Jingth P
Between three and four thousand
horses die everv week in London.