Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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m . \» •H.1 HERALD. vol. rv. DARLINGTON, S. C., FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 1894. NO. 42. FniKCE A*D PAl'PES. Vh« Prince passed b^. A careless boy, As he watched him ride away, Thought, “Oh, for • taste of the boaad- lessjoy * Whore the Prince mast feast each day.’* And a great hope burned in hie youthful heart J To sometime play a Prince's part* . ? ' The ttincf passed by, his heart' wad end With athoosendoarg oppressed! “To he opce more like wet happy lad . And freed from thla'deep hnrest; n ■ Td, (five alDthe sorry hopes of men: * Alas! that yqnth comes not again.” *■ —[Nixon Waterman in Cblcagh/ournal The doctor Aid not have An easy time of it in the East End parish, where he had bought a cheap prac tice and settled down With his you til, his aspirations, his skill, to fight tho battle of life. Hie youth seemed to slip from him in his first yeaf t){ work, his aspirations changed their nature, his skill developed. He ac quired vast experience in thositl poor homes, where ho fought valiantly sgalnet disease, the result ot intem perance and vice and poverty and ignorance—diseases of wliidll the victim was often an innocent sufferer. The sins of the fathers were visited Upon infants—the sins of by-gono generations upon brave girls tlhd well-meaning young fellows—sing of children on patient women and hard working men. Dr. Murray was a thinker as -well as a worker. He might, have easily become morbid in •‘that* dreary..place, where there was nothing beautiful to cliarm the mind, and little enough to charm the eyo or tho ear. But lie did not become morbid. He had the remembrance of a happy country homo where his boyhood had been passed, he had the thoughts of his dear old mother who lived I hero still, and tho lessons she had taught the boy had not left him in his manhood; above all, lie had thoughts of another woman—her letters, sometimes—tho promise o( herself before long. When he walked through the muddy street to his soli tary home lie did not let his mind dwell, on tlio room lie had just vis ited, where three children lay sick in one hed, shivering with cold, and with no one hut a drunken mother to attend to them, and give them such food ns was provided for the family by a lazy father, whose earn ings, scanty enough were chiefly spent at the “IfoyaI George.” He did not let.himself meditate on the details of his cases when he had left them; that would have unfitted him for his. work. No; he tried to im agine what home would be like when Norah was really there, when the opening door would disclose her to iiim and draw him-into the warm room, where there would be firelight and lamplight and—herself. Siie brought warmth and light and sweet ness to him,, to his life, .to Millwall. She brought that now. What would it he by-and-by— jy-and-hy—when— Ife reached h ne. He let himself into the unlighud hall. Tho house felt cold. Ho set his lips together , thought, “By and by.” He laid aside his umbrella, took off his coat, strode into the barely furnished, rather uncomfortable dining-room, and rang for dinner. A middle-aged woman presented herself. “OhI” she said, “I’m sorry the fire’s out, sir.” “Never mind,” said Murray, “I shall have to’go out again after dinner, 1 expect.” “Oh! that reminds me, sir. An old gentleman como to see you. Ho wanted you to call upon his wife. But he said you wasn’t to trouble to night if so bo jnu was tired.” “Who was it, Mrs. Hawker?” “ He was unknown to me, sir; but he was a respectable looking gentle man, quite clean, and a nice face to him—a bit of gray whiskers, too.” . “• Did he leave his name?” ■ “ Yes; I laid it on your consultin’- room table. He penciled it on the back of a envelope I had in my pocket. I’ll bring it in with your chop.” The doctor looked at it. In ill- formed. but fairly legible letters, he saw the words: Please call at your convenano:. John Temple, 14 Plevna Street, (top). it was not a cheerful night. But Within—what was there within? And every day must bring its duties. Besides that, “at your conveuance” was so delightfully agreeanle after the usual messages that reached him. He went into the hall again, pulled on his coat, took his umbrella, put on his hat badly as doctors usually do, and banged the front door behind him. By-and-by the doctor came to a narrow street which seemed to be less well lit, noisier, dirtier than those through which he had already passed. He had several patients in this road, but hedid not know exact ly where 14 was. Ho went right up to the nearest door and peered; that was 11, He eti ssed over, presuming the numbers were odds and evens. He louni 14. His knock brought a lat, untidy woman to the door, and several large eyed children into the hall. As the children and herself were at the time in the enjoyment of what they con sidered health, Mrs. Bickle did not feel it incumbent to be' extra polite. Mrs. Bickle held the candle, and she and the children watched the gantleman’.s ascent of the narrow, winding stair. Tlie house being only two-atoried, ho had not far to go. Mr. Temple, who had apparently just started to meet him, stood waiting till be reashed the top. 1 1 take this kind . * ; Sir.” he said, you." pr. Murray c3nld not at first dts- cern his lace, hut tho tone of tho voice struck, him pleasantly. It seem- « t0 accord with tho “ At your con- lAnce. 1 ' V ‘ In hero, please, sir." Q/ho. Alan led the way Into the dym. . Ih*. Murray had seen many such rifoms—rather, hs had seen many *ucb worse rooms. This was Small; il gave evidence of poverty k‘ft was tarely furqlshed. But it.toas it bright Mforo. Exactly why it (Jave- jthfi.Tfh- ptteasioh of brightness It Was difficult to kay j perhaps becadsS Mr. Temple %at in it.. That Was t|»e pflttcltiaieta There Was i small fife !i! nio grate: A lamp Was Oh the round table. There wAS A fchalr—^oilly One chair —which was put by the bedside. Id the bed lay a Wdmaii; Mr. Temple Introduced he# hriefly ( “ily wife.” The woman turned her eyes in thd « irectidri elf the doctor. That was er recognition of Ibs presence: “I thought I’d like you to step round and HaVe d look St her,”.said Mr. Temple. ! TVe fcitrcd she isd’t quite so well to-day. There ain’t much the matter, is there, Lucy? But I fancied it’d be a comfort to me if yoil'd see her:” When Mr. Tcrripie said there wasn't much the matter, it has to bo borne in mind that he hud been wont toseo her for five-and-twenty years like this, “She had a Stroke, and she has been paralyzed ever since," said Mr. Temple simply: He did not speak in a particularly and voice, or us if he pitied her or himself. The doctor looked at Mrs. Temple. It would have been difficult to say what her age might have been, she was such a wreck of a woman. She was, us a matter of fact ton years younger than her husband, and he was going on for seventy. She was perfectly helpless. She could not move any part of her body without a'd; she had o'-en lost the use of her hands. Her face was drawn to one sine by the paralyzed muscles, and thus distorted was bereft of any beauty it might have possessed. ■Speech was difficult to her, and the If the doctor hud followed his inclina tion to wring hla hand and veil hut: ha \fas proud to make his acquaint ance. And the doctor did not know tho extent of his self-sacrifice. He could nor, oven 11 he had known, realize at once what it meant to ciit tired wwklugtnun to rise early 'in tr:e cold winter mornings that everythin): might be ready lor the day before he started off'; the room was tidied, Ike file. Was lit, tiie hicaklast was made, and Lucy fed, before be touched a mor sel. ‘Other meti bare their wives be- attend to than, roughly perhaps, but to sffifto ejtjpnfc kindly, Temple, however, redelfod no help." He ci'en did some of the Waeftiftg that money . might be saved from the hmiidresz* He tfOVS Lttey little luxuvles. W,’ ? she ndd beef-lea he ate fhe tas meat ftorfi Which all nr..rishment had beeri extracted, Slid he enjoyed It the’ more the more’ tasteless It win., for then he knew it was likol y the beef-tea was good. If she protested It Was useless; she had given dp pro testing long ftgff; He did it, and she took it ns a matter of course. But she Wn« not ungrateful. His reward? Ah, he had his re- Ward; He loved lief better than he had eVfel dofie Id the days of her youth and health a fid beauty. And what does true love ask but the op portunity to serve? And she? What she felt fof him it would take a bet ter peii that! mine to describe; rather I defy any pen to describe it: I be lieve even the angels who looked ihto t hat garret could not understand it, for angels do not suffer nor need the tender ministry of man, They do not know What it is to be a burden where oiie Would bo a burden-hearer, and yet to find not gloom nor re proaches, but chivalrous devotion. Only He who gave the heart of women its needs and its powers could have understood how this one regarded Iter husband—He, and here and (here another made wise by suf- tering. When Dr. Murray had gone, the old man got ready for the night. He was obliged to retire early whenever possible. He brought warm water to tho bedside and washed the hands and face of his wife, and tied on her white night-cap. In the morning he would perform her toilet again, and do her hair for her. And he took •Band. It was something tntween • laugh and a sob. And the doctor turning, looked away again. Her husband’s words had moved the wife to tears, but bgr'fafee was radiant with joy in her upturned eyes. Temple laid his hand on hers—hers, which could give no answering pres sure. “Sir,” he said, “I can’t wish you better happiness than I’ve had. I wish you ak much. Arid I take it I’m about the happiest man in Lon don.”—[Cornhill Magazine. few words she uttered were scarcely pride in doing it, as he said, “as articulate. There was no light or color in her face; only her eyes showed that she was a living woman. They looked straight out, blue and shining, vivid against the parchment skin, the scant white hair. “I fancy,” said Mr. Temple, “she’s had a bit of a chill. Do what I will this room’s draughty, and she naturally feels the cold. She never complains, but I know she feels tho cold. Don’t you Lucy ? ” She muttered something. “Yes,-”- said Mr. Temple, “she does. You may be sure if she owns to it there’s reason. The only thing wo ever quarrel about is that she won’t ever say what ails her, unless I worry It out. She’s an obstinate woman,, is Lucy.” The idea of applying such a word to the poor creature would have seemed ludicrous to the doctor if it hadn't been for Temple's tone and the look in the eyes of his wife as she turned them in the direction of the old man. They were always turned in his direction when he was in tho room. That was one of the things tho doc tor found out before very long. “Who attends to her?” he in quired, when he had asked Temple a few questions and written a pre scription. “Why, I do, sir,” said Temple. “I wouldn’t let any one else touch her.” “Do you moan you do everything?” “Why, yes, sir. Who should if not me? She is my wife. I used to be a bit clumsy at first, but I’ve had time to learn. I manage pretty fair now, don’t I, Lucy?” Again the grateful, devoted eyes shone upon him. The doctor had seen how a woman could look when she loves. There were times when the remembrance of shining, long- lashed, upturned eyes thrilled him almost to pain, but—would Norah ever look at him like that ? He cleared his throat before he spoke again. “But you go to work. What then? Is she alone?” “Why, she is, sir, so to speak. I wouldn't leave her if I could help it. But I always commend her to the Lord before I go out, and He ain’t never failed us yet.” The doctor had a man’s hatred of cant. But he had sufficient insight by now into the character of those with whom he dealt to know that these words were as simple and sin cere as those which hod preceded them. “I get up early of a morning, you see, sir,” said Temple, “and make our breakfasts and attend to her. Then before I start for work—I’m in an engineer’s employ—I just boards her up in bed so us she can’t fall out. I’m back at dinner hour, and we Lave it together. Then, when I leave work,my evenin’ soon passes. There’s usually a bit of cooking to be done, and washing up, and the room to be seen to. A invalid must have things clean about her; it isn’t agreeable to just lie and look at everything dirty. I like Lucy to keep bright—but there! she always is; and if occa sionally she gets down I soon cheer her up, don’t I,Lucy? Me and Sunny together. Sunny—that’s our bull finch. He’s asleep now, covered up, you see, and I won’t disturb him. But by day he’s that lively! He chirps and talks away to Lucy; he’s company for her, Sunny is, bless his little heart!" He told the story of his great un selfish life without any idea that it was either the one or the other. In deed. he would have been surprised stylish ns a hairdresser.” Then lie arranged on a chair, so as to bo with in reach, a candle In a tin candle stick, a glass of water and a biscuit. After that he fetched a large prayer- book and the Bible, and read the Psalms and the second lesson for tiie evening, and afterwards prayed. Ho thanked God for the many mercies vouchsafed to them that day, for food and power to work, and for a home. He remembered those with out these blessings, and begged that they might receive them. He com mended himself and his wife to God’s keeping throughout the night. Then his day was over. In the night Mrs. Temple was thirsty. She did not disturb her husband; but he awoke, lit the candle, and held tho glass of water to her lips. Dr. Murray kept his promise to call. Hq got into the habit of look ing in on the old 'couple pretty fre quently. He wrote and told Norah about them, and one day she sent Mrs. Temple some Mowers, and the simple act gave such happiness that it was repeated, and during tho win ter tiie garret .vas never without a chrysanthemum or two. The spring brought hope to the doctor. He knew that Mrs. Haw ker’s reign was drawing to an end, and that tiie “by-and-by” would soon be here. It had been a hard winter. Strikes had brought added poverty to many a home, and the in fant sickness and mortality had been terrible. And then there had been the influenza! But ho had battled on, working all day and sometimes half tho night, and kept himself brave with the thought of Norah. And now it was April. And on the 1st of June! He called on the Temples before he went away. They had known that his marriage was approaching, but not exactly the date of it. “I am going off for a month,” h« said to John. Then reddening, “When I come back I hope to bring another friend to see you.” “Sir!” The old man looked at him. Then grasping his meaning held out his rough yet gentle hand. “God bless you, sir! You couldn’t tell mo anything that would make me more rejoiced., The dear young lady! We seem to know her now, already; but we shall really see her and love her, I am sure. ” “Oh, yes," said Murray, “you’ll love her, Mr. Temple. Everybody does.” “Lucy, did you hear? The doctor is going to fetch the dear lady.” The woman unclosed her eyes. She looked at the doctor, and the drawn face seemed flooded with sweetness. Her lips moved. “She says, ’God bless you,’ sir. Lucy says, ‘God bless you.’ And when she says it she means it. Ah, we know .vhat a blessed thing mar ried life can be; don’t we Lucy? It’s a solemn fact, s.r, to take a woman to be your wife. It’s a solemn fact. But when the blessing of God rests upon a union, marriage is a sacra ment that brings you added grace. It is, sir. Your faith grows, and your love grows, and your nature deepens. You learn many things. I’m old and I've lived, but the part of my life that lias helped me to the best knowledge is—lust that. I took Lucy. I said I’d ‘love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health.’ I’ve tried, and we’ve been happy. Sir, love does it all. You’ll want to comfort her, you’ll have to honor her, and II sickness comes you'll love her all the more.” From the bed there came a strange HUNTING PYTHONS. » . jgi e — Natal Matlvaa Burn, tha Foraat and Drive tlji^Haptifaa In a Pit. •The colon#,of Natal, South Africa, Jcoijhtrictors and py- ^je. Hjef .do not attack men" they* are •especially destructive of cattle, sheep and oxen, and for this reason parties are formed by hunters and natives to burn the bush and forest in order to exterminate the pests, Some of (lie soldiers at Pieterma ritzburg were recently informed by a party of neighboring Zulus of the Whereabouts of a huge python that had been destroying their oxen. The soldiers, with 200 natives, started Off to capture the snake, and having located it, the forest was fired for about a mile roundabout, an enorm ous pit having been previously dug in towards the centre of the inclosed space. What with the burning brush and the shouts of tho excited Kaffirs they soon drove tho reptile towards tlic pit where, closing in upon him, they forced him into it. Tiie python proved to be of enorm ous size, being thirty-two feet long and forty-one inches in circumfer ence. It appeared to be quite stupid or dazed, having just eaten a young Ox that had been let into the inclo- enre. An enormous cage with iron bars half way down the front having been coiistructea f.' l ° snake was got out of the pit and taken uit? Maritzburg in the cage. Here It Is kepi 011 hibition at the barracks, and is twf'ee a week, two Kaffir goats at each meal. It will not eat anything that has been already killed for it, preferring to kill its food itself. Tho goats are thrust through a small door at the end of tho cage alive, when fixing its great eyes upon them, tho snake sud denly lunges forward and crushes them in its powerful folds. After covering them with a thick slime about tw’o inches thick, before swal lowing, it flattens them out by squeez ing them, and then devours them almost at a gulp. After this the python goes to sleep and does not wake until it is time to feed again. A gentleman in Maritzburg owns a python that has been confined in a cage for over thirteen months. Du ring this period the snake has not eaten a mouthful of food o( any kind, although every conceivable delicacy of likely snake diet, such as frogs, birds, rats and meats, has been set to tempt its appetite. Its fast seems not to be broken and the owner has at last abandoned the idea of coaxing the coily prisoner with food. It drinks a very small quantity of water. In a dormant state this fasting would bo better understood, for in this state reptiles of this description have been known to exist for periods of eighteen months, or even three years.—[New York World. Curiosities About Wood. The strongest wood which grows within thelimits of the United States is that known as “nutmeg” hickory, which flourishes on tho lower Ar kansas river. Tiie most elastic ia tamarack, the black, or shelbark, standing not far below. The wood with the least elasticity and lowest specific gravity is the Fiscus aureu. The wood of the highest specific gravity is tho blue wood of Texas and Mexico. The heaviest of the foreign woods are the pomegranate and the lignum vitae; the lightest, cork. The tensile strength of the best-known woods is set fortli in the following, the words “tensile strength” mean ing the weight of power required to tear asunder one square inch of each: Ash, 14,200 pounds; beech, 11,600; cedar, 14,400; chestnut, 10,500; cypress, 6,000; elm, 16,400; fir, 12,- 000; lance, 28,000; lignum vitae, 11,800; locust, 20,500; mahogany, 21,000; maple, 10,500; American white oak, 11,500; pear, 9,800; pitch pine, 12,000; larch, 9,500; poplar, 7,000; spruce, 10,290; teak, 14,000; walnut, 7,800; willow, 18,000. The weight in pounds per square foot (without fractions) of the well- known woods (dry) is as follows: Butternut, 25; cedar, 85; cherry, 44; chestnut, 38; cork, 15; dogwood, 47; ebony, 88; box elder, 48; elm, 41; blue gum, 52; water gum, 62; white hickory, 49; shellhark hick ory, 48; holly, 47; juniper, 85; lance- wood, 45; larch, 84; basswood or linn, 87; mahogany, 66; hard maple, 46; white maple, 34; mulberry, 85; white oak, 53; persimmon, 44; pear, 41; pitch pine, 41; red pine, 86; white pine, 84; yellow pine, 88; plum, 49; poplar, 83; spruce, 81; sycamore, 88; tamarack, 28; black walnut, 41; white walnut, 82; the willows, from 80 to 86, and the yew, 49. Four hundred and thirteen differ ent species of trees grow in the dif ferent States and Territories, and of this number, 16, when perfectly sea soned, will sink in water. These woods of high specific gravity grow mostly In the arid regions of New Mexico, Arizona and Nevada.—{St. Louis Republic. The great fortifications at Quebec, which first and last have cost $80, 000.000 or Sf 10,000,000, are crnmblin; dawn, and no effort will bo mado t restore them, for their military sig nUiCBiice bus passed away. THE JOKER’S BUDGET. JESTS AND YARNS BY FUNNY MEN OF THE PRESS. Truthful Johnny--No Bias- - Foiled Again--Slightly Absont-Minded --His Landlady, Eto., Eto. TRUTHFUL JOHNNY. “Johnny,” said the lad’s father, “where hove you been? Your head’s wet.” “Is it?” exclaimed the boy, his cheerful expression vanisliing. “It certainly is. And your hands and face are cleaner than they have been for a week.” "W*y, I jes’ washed ’em.” 4 “And that isn’t your shirt you are wearing.” “Father,” said the boy, "the beau tiful story of George VVashington which you and mother have so oft re lated to me sank deep in my heart. I have heeded the lesson. Father, I cannot tell a lie. I have been in swimming.”—[Detroit Free Press. NO BIAS. Johnson—I have been chosen as arbitrator in the matter of those labor troubles on tho X. Y. and Z. road. Thompson—Why, you are a stock holder in that road. Johnson—That’s just it. Every body wanted a disinterested party, and the stockholders haven’t received a dividend in fifteen years. FOILED AGAIN. you going my pretty clams, kind sir,” she “Where are maid?” “Digging for said. “Can I go with you, my pretty maid?” “Butyou’re already dug,” shesaid. —[Puck. SLIGHTLY ABSENT-MINDED. A well-known Oxford professor of mathematics is so completely ab- sorbeu * 1 ' 8 profession that he is be coming more »r (l more absent-minded every day. One day 'Gcently he re marked to one of the 9tU(tcu-- ,: 4 “Something very stupid happen**, to me the other morning—I believe I am becoming a little absent mind ed.” “What is it?” “You see,I wanted to take my wife out for a drive and give her some fresh air, and, when I came to think over it, I remembered that I never had a wife.” HIS LANDLADY. I am weeping all alone, Sweet Marie; And my heart is like a stone. Sweet Marie; For I cannot pay a cent On my lodging or my rent, Though you’ve sent and sent and sent Bills to me, Sweet Marie. WHAT HE LEARNED AT COLLEGE. “Well, Uncle Silas, your boy is home from college, I see.” “Yes,” growled the old man. "Has he learned anything?” “More’n I ever could,” said the old man. “He’s learned how to smoke cigarettes.” ONE HAPPY HOME. Customer—I want a quarter’s worth of Paris green to kill rats. Useful Clerk—Does anybody In your house sing “Two Little Girls in Blue?” “No.” “Then I guess I’ll let you have it.” —[Texas Siftings. ONLY A DREAM. “Here is some money, my love,” said the husband. “I don’t want any,” replied the wife. “Come now, darling, take this fifty- dollar bill and go shopping.” “Thank you, dearest; but I really don’t care to; I would rather stay at home and help the hired girl.” Then the husband awoke and found, as the reader has already suspected, that^ie had been dreaming.—[Boston Courier. TURNED. Her voice was full of laughter And her eyes were merry, too, But when she went into the surf They say she got quite blue. —[Life. A REPORT OF THE SERMON. Grandpa—Well, Willie, you have been to church, haven’t you? Willie—Yes, sir. Grandpa—Well, what can you tell us about it? Willie—Why, sir, the man that sat in front of us had ears that wasn’t alike.—[Chicago Inter-Ocean. THAT TIRED FEELING. “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed, as she threw herself into a chair upon reach ing home, “I am almost tired to death.” “What is the matter, love? Where have you been?” asked her husband. “I’ve been shopping all day long.” “Shopping? And what did you buy?” “Oh. I didn’t buy anything. I only went to see the styles and get the prices.”—[Texas Siftings. TIE GIRL’S OWN. “lias your daughter realiy been studying to fit herself for college next year?” Mother—Yes; she’s read nothing but fashion books the whole summer. —{Chicago Inter-Oceun. BITTER LOGIC. ainaJ'i iioy (in fish market)—Have rou un.v d.-y lis'.if i isho'iiittn—Yea, Son nit. Sinail Boy—Well, give them a drink shei.. NOT A MAN OF HIS WORD. “He said he would die if I refused him.” “And did he?” “No; I saw him at the picnic yes terday.” POOR SHOW AT PRESENT. “Well,” said the moody philoso pher, “this world ain’t anything hut a fleeting show, anyhow.” “That’s so,” said the chronic pes simist. “An’ jes’ at present the per formance is a mighty doggone poor one.” it didn’t work. She—Doctor, what do you do when you have a cold? Doctor—Sneeze, madamo! She—Oh, but I mean what do you take? '' Doctor—An extra handkerchief.— [Truth. friendship’s test. Wll.is—Is the man who gave you that cigar a friend of vours? Wallace—I don’t know. I haven’t smoked it yet.—[Judge. THE FIRST FACT AT HAND. The lady witness had become quite picturesque in her testimony, and the attorney liad called her down in a way that had made her mad all over. “Confine yourself to facts, if you please, Madam,” he said in conclu sion. “Very well,” she replied, tartly; “you are no gentleman. How does that strike you?”—[Detroit Free Press. A PRETTY STATE OF THINGS. “Well,” said one apple to another, “are you going to vote?” “No,” replied the other, “I’m pared.” MOUSTACHE FIRST. She—Do you think of me ns much as you did? Cholly—No, not quite. I’m rais ing a moustache now.—[Life. NEVER MORE. The youth stood on the burning deck And smiled as in a dream, For nil about lie heard girls say. “Come treat us to ice-cream.” —[Chicago Inter-Ocean. HALF INSURANCE. “I wonder if I Cpuldn’t collect at least half of the insilrunce on my wife,” remarked Col. Percy Yerger to his friend, Major Witherspoon, as they were sipping their mint juleps in an Austin saloon. “Why, is your wife dead?” asked the friend. “Well, not exactly'. But every night when I come home late she says she is half dead with fright and anxiety'. It seems to me that in law and equity I could collect half tiie insurance money."—[Texas Siftings. OH, WHAT A DIFFERENCE. -Marriage is a lottery, to be He- sure, but there’s a difference between the ordinary lottery and marriage. She—Why, of course there is. “Yes; in the ordinary lottery a man has to give up his money before ho takes liizchances; in marriage 1 e doesn’t give up until afterward.”— [Yonkers Statesman. WOULD EAT THEM HIMSELF. Schoolmaster—Now, my boy, if y T ou sold 8,(XX) cabbages at five cents apiece, how much would that be? Boy (puzzled)—Don’t know, sir. Schoolmaster—But suppose, now, you kept a shop and sold those cab bages at five cents each, what would they come to? Boy (thinking he sees a way out of the difficulty)—Shouldn’t sell them at five cents; should sell them atone cent. Schoolmaster—But that would not pay you. Boy (triumphantly)—Then I’d sell ’em at ten cents. Schoolmaster—But they would not fetch ten cents. Boy (now rendered dezperate)— Then I’d eat ’em myself. —[New York Recorder. A TERRIBLE EXAMPLE. “Beautiful scenery here, is it not?” asked the young man of u solitary traveler whom he found pacing along the seashore. “Well, no,” replied tho stranger, “I can’t agree with Aon. I think the ocean is too small. It is no such ocean as my mother used to have.” "Your mother’s ocean was super ior, then?” • “Oh, yes; vastly superior. What tumbling breakers! What a magni ficent sweep of view I What ampli tudes of distance! What fishing there was in my mother’s ocean!” “But the sky is magnificent here, is it not, sir?” “Too low and too narrow across the top,” replied the stranger. “I hadn’t noticed,” said the young man. “Yes,” said the stianger, “it is too low, and there ain’t air enough in it, either. Besides, it doesn’t sit plumb over the earth. It is wider from north to south than it is from west to east. I call it a pretty poor sky. It is no such sky as my mother used to have. ’ ‘Pardon me, but did your mother have a special sky and ocean of her own?” Hero an old resident came up and drew the young man aside. “Don’t talk with him,” said tiis old resident. “He is a hopeless luna tic. He is a man who always used to tell h*L wife aoout ‘the biscuits my mother used to make,’ ‘my iiiotliei *> pieu, ’iiiy mother’s puddings,' and ’my mother's pluinLicakc;i. 'ihe liiibit grew on him so i*'ucli that i:» became ;j eoMirincd iuii.tifc, and now lit* does nothing but coiiipure every- Yjiug he sees, with fchc sumo things | L'h, mo .her uiod to have. '* CHILDREN’S COLUMN. ACCOUNTED FOB. I am not loellng well to-day, But why I cannot see. I had some ice-cream ’cross the way, And pancakes home for tea; I also had some caramels, And sugar almonds, too, And when I met with Tommy Wellj A stick of fine tulu. But I was careful with each one— Too much of none I ate. It cannot be that penny bun, ■ And yet the pain Is great, I had six cookies, but I’ve had. Six cookies oft before; They’ve never left me feeling bad Nor pickles—three or more. The soda-water couldn't make Me 111 — ’twas Billie’s treat. I sort of think this fearful acho Comes wholly from tho heat. —Harpers's Young People. BUBDLB TO LAST HOURS. The great sorrow of little bubble- makers comes when they fly into the air and disappear. Bubbles can be made to last as long as ten hours if you try this. You must make a fluid this way. Fine shavings of palm oil soap are shaken in a large bottle with dis tilled water until a concentrated solu tion of tho soap is obtained. Mamma or some grown up person will have to help prepare this. Then filter this through gray filtering paper, and thou mix with one-third its bulk of pure glycerine. The fluid is to be shaken up before use. Have a small glass funnel of two inches diameter con nected with a tube of India rubber, and soap bubbles may be prepared with this fluid that will surpass tho rainbow itself. They may be kept for a long while by putting them careful ly upon an iron ring which is slightly rusty and thoroughly wet with the soapy solution. Just imagine bubbles twelve inches across! But they have been blown this way, and will last five or ten minutes. A string of bubbles two or three inches across can be kept for ten or twelve hours. It is the finest way there is to make bubbles.— New York Journal. A BIG BATH. Now this is true, every word, for Harry and I both saw it. We had been at the circus, and a very fine circus it was; we shall not see its like again, for it was Barnum’s, and Jnmbo was in his glory. We had two hours of rapture, and men wo went to make a visit, and then Xe took the train to go home, ns we did not live in the circus city. The iailway runs along the bank of tho river, and as we came near tho circus grounds wo saw a wonderful sight. Down to the shore, in slow procession, came one, two, three—how many were there? Twenty elephants, as sure as I am alive! All the great circus beasts, headed by Jumbo, coming down to bathe. The little accommodation train had plenty of time to spare, and the good engineer slackened speed so that all the passengera could see this strange sight In they went, the huge creatures, plunging into the cool water with evident delight. Splash! there one rolled over on his back and disap peared clean from view. Splash ! here he was up again, trum peting with joy, and spouting water far and near. The great gray backs popped up and down, the vast ears flapped, the little tails waved and quivered with pleasure. Not often do circus elephants get such a treat ss this! Harry and I stared with all our eyes, and felt ns if we were in one of Mayne Reid’s books, and as if Hen drik or Groot Willem might pop out of the bushes at any moment and take a shot at the “big game” which they loved so well. But no hunters appeared. The en gineer’s conscience began to prick him, and the train moved on, we cran ing our necks out of the window—a very dangerous thing, which I hope none of my readers will ever do—to catch a last glimpse of tho mighty bathers. They vere still splashing about when we passed out of sight, and wo whisked merrily home, feeling that the best part of the circus ha 1 been outside the tent, and that it was a very good thing to live by the bank of a big river.— Youth's Companion. Qolte Willing to Work. “I am perfectly willing to work, mum,” said the tramp, “but the diffi culty is in finding labor congenial to my tastes." “What do you think you would like to do?” inquired the compnssionato woman. “I think I would like to be a bank president, muni. Do you know where I could get a job of that sort?”—De troit Free Press.