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* msmoe A Tale of English Life. BY WALTER BE SAN T I 1 CHAPTER VJL r r XiVT AOAIX. "Hush?" Naomi held up her finger. *1 think she is in a sleep." "At last you have her again," said the ' librarian. 1 "Yob?at last. They let her go because she was ill, and the time 'was so 1 close at hand when she would have hei 1 tioket-of-leave. I brought her home yesterday. She was a good deal excited, 1 poor) child, but at night she grew com- ] g)sed and told me more than I knew. ' e was her husband?her husbandthink of that? The man went into the witness box and sent his own wife to p?nal servitude. She did not stab him In her misery because he had deserted her?she wanted tb kill herself. I will tell you all presently. He knew that, too. Oh, villain!?villain!" "Villain! villain!" echoed the librarian. "You shall see her directly. But she frightened me this morning. She doe6 not know me. She thinks Bhe has got her baby in her lap?it was born in the prison, and died in the prison. But she Is a married woman, remember, bne * thinks her husband?oh, her husband < ?is with her. Tell me what I should 1 do. Come in. Her eyes are closed. I 1 think she is sleeping." It was a Sunday morning In mid- ' winter. Outside, the church bells j rang, but it was not a quarter 1 where the call to prayer is heeded, and ( the feet of the people were not set J churchwards. Within, a bright fire, a * clean room, and in an easy ohair the ' prisoner set free. She had put off her ' prison dress; they had suffered her hair to grow, her beautiful light hair curling about her forehead; her face, refined by ( long suffering, seemed in its delicacy 1 and pale beauty to be the face of some 1 coinf anont. V?pr in * vuiigviuu vuxuw i?**v wjtvmw j _ ___ , holy meditation; her eyes were closed, { but at the sound of the voices and the shutting of the door she awoke and looked around. '* "Naomi, dear," she said, smiling. Thank God! She was once more in hei right mind again. "I have been asleep, I think. I forgol that I was released, and I thought I was In my cell again." "Dear," said Naomi. "Forget the cell. Oh! Try to forget it. See, I have brought you my friend?my best friend. Oh! my dear, he knows all; he will adTise us and help us. He has been very good, and kind to me, dear?while we "Were parted. . Because it was lonely without you?and when one thought? ^ no, no, it is all over. Oh! my dearay dear?it is all over and we are together, and I can bear anything now? anything." a The librarian tried to speak. But he 6 turned away his face, and the tears 11 rolled down his cheeks even to his great ? . gray beard. 'Twas a soft-hearted li-' 1 brarian. " "You have got to grow quite strong 1 and well again, my dear," he said, tak- 0 1ng her hand and holding it while he sat 11 Aiwn haniria her. "Quite strone and 8 well before you think about anything. J Poor child!" "I shall never get strong or well a gain," she replied. "I heard the doo- v tor in the infirmary say so. That mat- u ters nothing, except that I shall be such a a troubfe to everybody. Oh! Naomi, dear, What a trouble I have been to you! " "What a dreadful trouble. I have spoiled 6 your whole life, my dear." ? "Not you?not you, Ruth," Naomi an- !| wered, hoarsely. "But that villain? 13 oh! that villain!" "Don't, dear. It hurts me that any- ^ body should call him names. At first I v was hard upon him for the sake of my : - i vll A ; "i think she is in a sleep." baby. It is very terrible for a child to he born in prison, isn't it?and for its mother to bo a conviot. No child can ever get over that disgrace. But God j took the child, and then I was happier. There was only myself to think about, and I began to feel that it was worse for him than for me. Nothing can undo the past. I came to forgive him, dear, and would forget him if X could. But i you can't forget your husband. Women are made bo " "They are," said the iiDrarian. ~uoa knows they are." "Naomi, dear, you thought I waB over- 1 whelmed with the disgrace and shame ? of it. No, dear. I never could feel any t disgrace?not even in the court. The i convict dres6 was nothing to me, nor i toe prison rules. I obeyed the rules,, i and I did not mind them. You see, dear, I was innocent. But I had a sentence at first far more terrible to bear. It was the sentence of my child's disgrace. It was only when I thought of , you, dear, that I felt the disgrace to me ' ?and this only?for your sake. For J my own I felt nothing. When I told the doctor?it was only the other day? ! he cried about it. Is a kind man . though he is a prison doctor.*" I "Will you have some breakfast now, dear? You would not eat any an houi . go." "I thought we had breakfast at 7. tI?lP o nf nnri n n ri * * JLA.au U J/I41W WWW uuu MMM -] She looked about her with troubled . eyes; her brain was wandering again. "I must clean the cell and roll up the 1 blankets before work begins. The [ matron lets me do her room; they are all kind to me. Of course they kuow ] ' never did it." She shut her eyes as if trying to collect herself. "Give me mj ! baby." She started up and opened hei eyes and held out her arms. "Give m< ^ any baby. Oh! my precious baby. 1 Hush! He is asleep." She thought th? j jcnlld was in her lap. "He Is asleep, j 'Sir, Naomi. You didn't know I had < such a lovely baby, did you? He has < Sot his father's eves exactly, hasn't e? Come and look at your son, Harry, i Kiss him, dear. He shall grow up ae i handsome and as good as his father." } "Ob! my friend," said Naomi. "What 1 shall I do? What shall I do? It tears < my heart to hoar her and to look at 1 her." i Well, there was very little tcbe done, j The librarian, who now 6howed himsel? l a perpon of infinite resource, went away i that very morning and brought back [ pvith him a medical man of wonderful j \ [ Ml S M ^ > .1 "V vu 6K111?quae a magicai menicai man?to see the girl, and told him pieces of the story. The medical man said that, considering everything, it was fortunate she had not died in prison, and that she would certainly die before many weeks; that to such an organization as this woman seemed to have, love and happiness were the food of life; then he added, "What a murderer!" He recommended something or ctfcer and went away. But he did more. For this medical magical person had a daughter, one of those who spend their lives in good works. And 6he, moved deeply by the Badness of the thing, oame to nurse the girl, and instead of reading to the pa- , tients in the hospitals, sat all day long with Kuth while her sister was at work, and talked to her and prayed over hei continually with the sunshine of sym- ] pathy and friendship. She also sent in a piano and played to the sick girl. In the evening Naomi came home, and j when the librarian could get away, he, too, came and read or talked of grave things, thoughts concerning men and \ women and the conduct of life and the teaching which is read aloud in the ] churches without ceasing, and remains | is much neglected as ever. So they :alked her poor wearied brain into rest, j But ever and anon the dying girl's eyes crould wander troubled round the room, , ind she would go back to her prison , jell, and she would call again for her saby and dandle the pretty child before lis father?the father so handsome and >o good. One evening, when 6he felt a little stronger than usual, she told her sister ibout her marriage. "Harry wouldn't marry me openly and ake me to his own people," she said, 'because he was dependent on his lather. But he wouldn't give me up, ind one day he told me that he had jverything ready and would marry me secretly in a registrar's office. But I aras to tell nobody?not even you, dear; md I promised. He took me in a cab, I lon't know where. One of his friends, Mr. Middlemist, who wa6 a clerk in his 'ather's office, came with us. "NVe got )utf,of the cab at the office, and went within So that, his father should not Ind out, he signed a false name. He ;ook his mother's name, and signed himself 'Henry Hendrioksen.' " "And you rememoer the place, dear?" "No, I do not know where it was, be:ause I never thought of looking. Afterwards he told me that it was a sham egistry, but I know now that it was lot, because people who have sham >ffices do not put up brass plates and >rint the name of the office in the pilars of the door. Besides, we had to wait while another couple were married. [ am his wife, dear, as much as tho law :an make me." When Naomi told this to the librarian, le said that now they knew the particuars nothing would be easier than to ind out where the marriage took place, because a register is kept, and can be ;onsulted. And he took certain tfteps inknown to the two sisters. After this they talked no more about he past. As the bodily frame grew i veaker her mind became more restful. during the day 6he seemed to forget the t last. She listened, her hollow eyes t ooking far away, while her nurse?the t ihysician's daugeter?played to her; on j he wings of the music she was borne ,way to the land of holy thought. When ' he talked it was of the future?now so i lear?when her child should be re- i tored to her. The past, as she truly 1 old her sister, had left upon her soul ] io touch of sham!?not the lea6t touch, 'hat It had killed her was nothing, be- n ause life had nothing left for her. Only r - ni/vVif okn ttaii 1A n TIT oli'Q oris) V Li IUC ?^Ul nv,UiU ?? V U.14V1 u tretch out her hands, feeling for the \ rails of her cell, and rcoau and w?>ep in hinking of the child, born in the prison ,nd dead in the prison. Then Naomi rould weep with her and soothe her, ntil the dying girl, in her turn, soothed nd consoled the girl who bad to live. One evening, towards the' end of ipril, when there was a soft breath of arly spring, Ruth began to talk of the Id days, when the swifts flew about the Dwer of the cathedral, and the leaves egan to come out upon the trees; and he spoke or the sW?et service on the iunday morning, and of the quiet shop, pjth its shelves of books, round which he canons of the cathedral would slowly ralk, reading the titles; and of the lean, who always came to shake hands rith her father, and patted her cheek? .11 the old life?so long ago, so long .go. She talked about this all the j ivening; it seemed as if she could think if nothing else. When she laid her T ??vAn iKft ni 1 lmr cKa mil rmnrcH ? ICOU U^VU ViaV ?T DMV ****** V.M, Naomi, dear, there is nothing worth re- ; aembering but the old days?and you, < lear, and you?unless it is my baby. , )h! he is "waiting for me. I can see his ] retty face; he holds out his pretty ] landa" Then, with no more words, , ler eyes closed and she fell asleep. Na- i ?mi watched her; she was breathing , BBS ALBO BEST 15 A PIANO AND PLATED. 1 reely and lightly: shn went to bed her- , self. An hour afterwards she awoke in Moian a/^ TJ nfk rrr-i e V* ng lightly and regularly. Naomi fell . isleep agakin. When she awoke again it pvas morning, and Kuth lay dead. ( CHAPTER VII. ( LOnO PEHIYALE. ] Mr. Harry Stwke bad finished break- ) 'ast, and was waiting his wife in order 1 so go to church with her as a respeeta- ' We And God-fearing gentleman should i an Sunday morning. His wife?for be tiad married with his father's sanotion inG approval?was none otner than Lady Beatrice, daughter of the Earl and 1 Countess of Tbordisa. He wa6 himsell the Honorable Harry, eldest son of Lord Perivale, the newest creation. No one . ould grudge elevation of a man who iad achieved, single-handed, what all the men in the City are perpetually tryng to do with the aid of partners, anjeetral connections, inherited capital, ind "the brains of paid servants; he had imassed an enormous fortune; all govsmments love to honor the City and the successful children of the City; there- 1 'ore there was but one murmur of apirnvfll whfin \Tr -Tnhn nf TViMfui. < needle 6treet, was elevated to a peer- i ige. And the fact that he had so much noney was a sufficient reason for makrag his children and his children's children, so long as the stock should last, a :aste apart, and hereditary legislators. The honorable gentleman looked perectly healthy, happy, and contented with himself. Why not? His partnership enabled him to occupy a good louse in a good square; his marriage- ( tpened a great many good houses to lim; he had a brace of fine, strong 1 children, one of -whom, the heir to the peerage, a little boy of 2, had teen 1 jrought down to play with him, and was now rolling on the hearth rug.' Fhe ohoicest gifts in store had been joured into his lap, which was Uke a E<T~-r sack for capacity, ana was ready to re< ceive more choice gifts?the more anc the choicer the better. Heaven cer tainly seems very good indeed to th< ircher creatures. A footman brought him a card. "Who is it?" he asked; "I don't knon the name. What does he mean by com' ing on Sunday morning?" ? "Gentleman says he has to speak t< you on most important private busi' noss." 1 "Oh!" He thought it must be som< message from the city, or from his father. "Show him into the study. No, lei him come here." The visitor was an elderly gentleman dressed plainly, who entered, bowed and waited to be asked bis business. "Well, sir," asked the Honorabl< Henry Stoke, "what do you want witl me? You said you had important private business with me?" "Yes. I have brought you some news." "What news?" "You gave evidence in a trial abou inree years anu a m?u agu. "What about that trial?" The Honor ble Harry turned very red and ther pale. ""Who are you?" "I am librarian of a free public libra^ ry. It really does not matter who I am You gave evidence in a case of allegec Btabbing and wounding. Your evidenc< sent your own wife to penal eervitud< for seven years." "My wife? It's a lie~a lie, I say.' He said more, but the terror in his eye; greatly detracted from the strength o his words. "It is true," said the librarian, calmly "Your own wife." "Prove it, if you can." "I can. It can be proved very easily You took lodgings in a certain parisl under the name of Hendricksen. Un der that name you were married at th< registrar's of that district to Rutl Heron. You continued in your lodg ings, and your wife, who lived with he: oictoi- vScitari vrtn there. One of vou: friends, a man named Middlemist, thei a clerk in your father's office, was ii your confidence, and was preseat a your marriage." "Middlemist is dead." "Not at all. He lost his place in youi office and had to go abroad. He has low come back again and has made an VCT V 'HARRY, WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS/' iffidavit of the facte. We have al6o ob? ained an affidavit from the landlady oi he lodgings. There is no doubt pos>ible." "What aie you going?going to do?" The man caught the back of the chaii md showed a ghastly face. "Man, it if uin?absolute ruin?to me. You don'1 enow what mischief you may be doing, [ will pay anything?anything." "At tne trial your wire woum -ay lothing; a word from her would have uin id you. A word from you would lave saved her. What forgiveness? rhat consideration can you hope?" "I will buy silence at any price. Look lere, there are only you and I present; t doesn't matter what I say. It's all rue; I did marry her. I told her it was l false marriage because I was driven learly mad. 1 suffered terribly at the ime, she ought to think of that; I sufered terribly. I thought it was all over." "In her lifetime nothing was said. But rtMr mifA in rifiiiri " "Dead? Is Ruth dead?" His face jrightened again. "Dead! Then it is all ight! It doesn't matter to anybody." "It matters to her memory and to hei riends. She is dead, and now the story shall be told. Yes, Mr. Stoke, you will ace the whole .truth " Just then the door was thrown open, ind Lord Perivale himself walked In; he >ore in his hand a little bundle of pa? >ers. which he threw upon the table. "What is the meaning of this anloancement, sir?" he asked his son; 'and this, and this. In the St. James Sazette?in the Pall Mall?and in the Dbserver this morning. What does il nean. I eay? 'On Friday, April 29, ,v % ' " * TT UU Kutn, wne ci ine nuuuiuuic jLiciiij fiendricksen Stoke, of Chester Square Led Threadneedle Street, daughter ol ;he late Nathaniel Heron, J. P., of Bar. hester, aged 25.' "What Is this, I ask?' His son looked at the announcement, DUt made no reply. "What Is it?" reared his lordship. "It means," said the librarian, "whal t says. Your son's wife is dead." ""Who put in this announcement?" "I did." "Then, sir. you shall smart for it il :here is law in the land." 'It is true," the librarian said, quietly, 'Your son's wife Is dead." "Who is dead?" It was Lady Beatrice who stood a1 :he door, dressed ready for church, and >s!<ed this question. "Who is dead?" she reDeated, 'This man's wife is dead," said tb< loranan, pointing to ner own nusoano. "His wife? What do you mean?" "His wife died on Friday. She will be juried the day after to-morrow." "Harry! what is the meaning of this?" she caught her husband by the arm. 'Speak! what does this mean?" "It means?it means " but he ?ould not finish the sentence. "It means that his lawfol wife is lead," the librarian continued. "Thit man was married fixe years aeo, at a egistrar's office, to Ruth Heron, undei the name ol .Henry nenancKsen, wnicn was hie mother's name. She died yesterday at her sister's lodgings." "Harry! speak." "It's a lie," he repeated, but feebly. "By 6aid Lord Perivale, "I believe it is true." "It is true," said the librarian. "Hit wife'6 sister 6ends me to inform him ol this news. All the papers and prooft ire in a lawyer's hand6. There is nc doubt possible." "Then what am I'" asked Lady JEieatrice, looking around helplessly. The librarian was silent. "And what are my children?" "Madam," said Lord Perivale, "II this 6tory is true, you are almost as illused a woman as the other, Ruth Heron You, sir, it ?'38 your own wife?youi own wife?your own wife?that yo\ sent to a convict prison!" * ? * * * J ne reason "wny .Liaay .eeawice eey arated from her husband is not known Nor is it generally known why thf Honorable Harry Stoke left his father'i firm and went abroad. His btothei knows, however, that he is forbidden 01 any pretext whatever ever to return t< his native country. And what will b( done when he dies, and the question o the succession to the title will arise, ii doubtful. The second son, the Honor able Joe, is determined that It shall pro< ceed in the legitimate line?that is U say, to himself. And as for Naomi, sh< is married to the librarian. At sixty you see, one begins to ieel the want of* wife. [thx end ] Copyright, by the Authors' Alliance. />? rights ' ? m-MV; -? ' ! ARTIFICIAL LIMBS. MAKING SUBSTITUTES FOR MISSr IXG LEGS AND ARMS. An Industry That is a Boon to Hu3 inanity ? Various Processes of Manufacture Described?Cost of Replaced Members. IT CCIDENTfc will happen and / \ 10 rrc o v? rl onmo Uo VvnAlran a* / ? uuu OX LUO WW t/A WA^U U1 , crushed so that amputation becomes nocessary, and then J the artificial article is truly a blessing. 1 It -appears to be a difficult task to determine the date of the first appearance of this great boon to humanity. For centuries the unfortunate cripple was an object of pity, neglected and t entirely at the mercy of the unskilled Burgeon. Crude and cruel methods ' were adopted by the ancients in cut1 ting off a limb. It was not until the seventeenth century that any humane means of stopping the hemorrhage was i discovered. Previous to that, after a 3 leg or arm had been knocked off by ? the use of a mallet and a chisel, the stump was seared over with red hot irons to stop the flow of the blood. | And even after all Jthis torture .the Eufferer was compelled to hobble about as best be could without the slightest hope of ever having his condition ameliorated. And yet some substitute . for a missing member was certainly 1 found by the ancients, for Herodotus, ' who died in 408 B. C., tells us in some * of his historical works of a prisoner who amputated his own foot to free r himself from the shackle, and was thus c\ enabled to escape and return to his 1 home, where his friends provided him i with a wooden foot. An artificial leg * was found in 1885 at Capua in a tufa tomb and is now on exhibition in the Academy of Sciences in London. At [ the feet of the skeleton where this j relict was found lay three vases bearing the date of 300 B. C., proving that the art of making artificial limbs is an old one. The beginning of the present centurv, however, marks the tin^e when ' <?? BVOC? J?' S^Tfi F'RSf^ooY ipill FOR NAT i villif FIRST ? 11L start HV'rrs wmARTIFICIAL LEG IN VAKIOC ' real improvements were made in artificial limbs and shapely legs and arms and hands began to take the place of the cmtch and the etiff and immova, ble wooden peg. Although frequently [ spoken of as "cork" legs, that very useful material has never been a factor in,the making of an artificial limb. Artificial limbs are. made generally ' from red or English willow. This comes to the manufacturer in blocks | J after a thorough seasoning of twc . | years. Fur legs, these blocks are long enough to form either the iower or calf or the npper or thigh part of the ; limb. Then there is the foot block. All the work is done by hand. Invention has not yet devised machinery for " making artificial limbs. The first r thing the operator does is to he t the i foot block into some roagh semblance I of a human foot, and into this is put one part of the ankle hinge. Then the skin is rudely formed and the other ' portion of the ankle hinge is adjusted. ; I) f'l ^ JfpEG \ JfiEG Jr ^artificial I fH \ V w *?* ' i ? i II THI I I //, \ IMPUTATION I , I When these two parts are put together and connected a natural working , ankle joint is produced. The ordinary make has only the back and forward motion, though m some cases a joint having a lateral action is found ' necessary. This, however, is not often. The next point to which the workf man gives his attention is the toe j joint. This is a simple contrivance ;i to look at, but it is an ingenious piece of mechanism. It is difficult to get this hinge to exactly suit the step of the wearer. Then comes the socket for the reception of the stump. This j 16 a work of great care, for in the per. feet fit here lies all the comfort or disi comfort. In one end of the original r block as it arrives at the factory is a j round anger hole. With a peculiar tool, shaped like a hook, with a sharp edge, the workman begins enlarging this hole until he has made it fit the J stump 60 that it touches with precisely j the same bearing every portion of it. p If the amputation has been below the i knee then comes the stout steel knee > joint. The making and fitting of this ' psrt of the limb requires great skill. ' TLe necessity is found for a separate ' knee piece of wood. This is fashioned into a shapely knee cap, and so ad, justed that each end works smoothly j and steadily in either the top socket 01 the lower limb or the bottom part ? of t>e upper limb. Th& making of the various hinges ( which form the joints is an important part of the work. They are made of steel and car-spring rubber, and must be simply perfect in their adjustment to insure satisfactory results. ABTIFICIAIi LEG FOB AMPUTATION BELOW THE KNEE. When the leg ha8 been fitted and all the joints have been made to -work perfectly the wood is smocthed on the outside. It is then covered with a coating cf thin rawhide and enameled. Bat with all the care exercised in the manufacture, the most difficult tank, perhaps, falls upon the person who is to wear the contrivance. In many cases it is difficult to learn to use it. According to all accounts people have more trouble learning the use of an artificial arm or hand than they do the leg. If but one arm has been amputated, the remaining member is made to do all the service. People as a usual thing find it much easier to learn to write with the left hand than .or) 8 STAGES OF MANUFACTURE. J getting the knack of holding a pen 01 pencil between a wooden or robber finger and thumb, but if both hande are missing it becomes necessary. In regard to artificial arris and bands some great results have bees attained. The work on these is much more complicated than on the leg, but still hands are made with fingers thai will pick up a pin or handle a sword with wonderful facility. The simplest contrivance for making the fingers work naturally is a strap which goee over the shoulder. By "hunching" or working the shoulder joint thic strap is made to act upon a mechanism id tne,iorearm ana acnua m mut> liuumunicated to the fingers so that they will open and shut. While it is advisable for anyone who intends procuring artificial limbs to visit the factory in person to get a perfect fit, it is possible to get fairlj good results from a plaster of Pane cast. It is sometimes impossible for people to reach large cities where this work can be done as it should, and in such cases the plaster cast serves a good purpose. So also in regard to the cost of limbs. A perfect leg will ! cost about $75, while an arm, owing j to the complicated mechanism, will cost from $40 to $100. There are what the makers call peg i lecra. These are finished legs except that they have no foot. They are made with a peculiar joint at the knee, so that the peg can be either stifl or, by turning a screw, can be made to work on a hinge, as the wearer likei best The socket receptacle is hollowed out in the complete leg, and they can be made very comfortable. There is a wide difference of opinion regarding the time that ought to elapse after amputation before the artificial limb should be tried, but a fair average of all jadgments on the matter 6ets the time at three months, and it will then take two weeks to turn out a limb. Remarkable Privilege of a Baron. The thirty-second Baron Kingsale, who died recently, had the privilege of keeping his hat on his head in the presence of the sovereign. No other nobleman in England had this privilege, which came to his ancestor, John ^ ? arm .Trthn ({(> lie VjU) IUU jcmo K6v> ?. Courcy was a faithful friend of Richard the Lion-Hearted, and King John cruelly caussd his imprisonment in a dungeon. When the King of France sent a challenge from his most valiant knight to the most valiant knight of Britain John de Courcv had to be released. He won the battle, and then exacted as a reward the right for himself and his descendants to remain with covered heads in the King's company, and to salute him only with a shake of the hand.?New York World. Smoking Kills the Bacteria. TTrtiolr /-vf Vionno Vioq r?p. II I U1CDCU1- iaujon, vi v ? ~ clftred thftt smokers are less liable to j diphtheria and other throat diseases I than non-smokers in the ratio of one I to twenty-eight. The learned Doctor Sehiff also gives us to understand that smoking is always positively forbidden in bacteriological laboratories, because it is known to hinder the development of bacteria.?Boston Traveller.. - ' - . v ' . ; .. :\-t. ; ^ -''3-- - r**:W '* .* >.' i^ V'y ~ . , . ' * " T A 5ABLLESS HORSESHOE. An Important Invention That May ' , Prove a Boon for Horses. In-one respect the 1m man race has j made very little improvement daring 1: the past few thousand years. This is. 3 in the matter of horseshoes. Onr pres- c ent method of shoeing horses has not changed materially for centuries, and ^ has always been rnde And irrational. j One of the chief objections to the ays- . tem is that the hoof is made to fit the shoe instead of the shoe to fit the hoof. ' This involves a lot of cutting and , scraping, and is the chief cause of lameness and stumbling. The nse of 1 nails is also a serious objection, as, no j matter how careful the blacksmith t may be, there are cases when a tender spot will be penetrated. It is quite j obvious that nature never intended . nails to be driven into a horse's hoof. The .accompanying illustrations, 1 says the New York World, show a j novel horseshoe that has been sub jeoted to a careful and thorough trial 4 on half a dozen horses. In every in- 1 stance it has worked to perfection. ; The inventor is GK L. Beynolds, of Auburn, tf. Y. Like a great many works of genius, the one in question is extremely sim- , pie. It consists of a band of metal j about an inch high, which fits around 1 the lower edge of the hoof. At the j base of this band there is a sort of . projecting shelf, or flange, which is 1 made to fit into a groove which runs j around the inside of the shoe. The latter is made of steel, of the usual ] shape and style. The only difference ! T A THE HOESESHOE WITHOUT KAILS. between it and the ordinary shoe is the presence of the groove and the absence of nail holes. When the band is fitted to the hoof (which is done very readily), the sho^ in tnrn is attached by slipping the flange into the groove. It now remains to clasp the arrangement by two) screws in the rear. These may, be turned to any degree of tightness deoinorl anil a tv4arlava a ia an#_ Oil HUU %M UiUUUOVO iO out fioient to prevent the shoe from coming oft The whole arrangement may be pnt on or taken off in a moment. As the shoe is not nailed to the hoof, there is a perfect freedom for expansion and contraction. This is a very essential point, as all horsemen know. The growth of the hoof is not prevented, and if there is any growth, instead of splittling the hoof, it serves pnly to tighten lihe shoe. All the strain on the band as it is tightened oomee over the toe and around the lower edge of the hoof at the point where it is the hardest. The ease with which the shoe may be put on and taken off permits its fortnnate wearer to enjoy a luxury that has been denied him up to the present time, for now the horse may remove his shoes before retiring for . the night. We all know what a relief it iB to take off oar footgear, especially > in damp weather. There is so reason ; why .the horse should not feel equally I I/OWEB PABT OP SHOE. relieved when deprived of his heavy iron ologs. Another point of advantage, on ' which the inventor properly lays much i* stress, is the fact that the shoe is . grasped firmly tq the hoof at every point. Under the nailing system the i aavi/v ?aa? a?a t lttob iittUD tuvruu* iiuc xcoi nic uxivoju ' about half way between the heel and > toe. This leaves one-half of the shoe on either side unfastened. There is ? 1 thus a considerable leverage, and it is for this reason that so many shoes come off. If this shoe is caught, say in a traok, at the rear end, it is almost sure to come o?L This difficulty is obviated in Mr. Reynolds's shoe. In faot, some persons have objected to this shoe on the ground that it will never pull oft in an accident, thus rendering the hoof itself liable to injury. ' The fastening in the rear is made by i means of a spring clinch, which may i be of any strength desired. It has one end fast to the hoof of the rear upright extension of the calk, and the other end has a metallic bearing, attached to the hoof an inoh or more i UWUM rAifi' ur aaw. farther back than where the last sail ! is usually driven. The point of the screws, as they are turned in, press upon the centre of this spring, and thus, while the screw presses the clinch fiimly down to hold the shoe and hoof tightly together, the spring reaots upon the screw with equal pressure. This spring eases the solid, dead blow that is ordinarily given by the hoof | when the shoe is fastened by means of nails. ] The Limit of Folly. \ It seemB about the limit of folly to , hide money in a 6tove and leave it to the risk of fire, but even that line was ] passed by some unknown near Norway, Ga., who 6tored a lot of cart- 1 ridges in a stove. A woman started a 1 fire in the stove one day last week and ^ the cartridges exploded, destroying , the sight of one eye and otherwise in- I junngher.?New York Sun. ? n? 4 i At i j The late xu. ntamDuion was a coi- j lector of postage stamps. He bad , about 40,000 of them, some of great value. i l White willow, the chosen wood fcr 1 the cricket bat, is said to be disap- 1 pearing from England. fj 1 ? lOXZt) DHJNX8 T3ZW- I An effort been made by the ^StJ The desalts are somewhat startling. 1 ording to amASfAB made of samples' oolleH ' 1, a devotee of the onp ml got oil M "an and get whisky; in fact, thauomW* ions evolved by the Board are as numeroW In the soft drinks, 80-iaLiety*|?japd b^fl| common custom seejas^to irug is everywhere recognized as hanui9?^^H|^H In theanalysis of samples^of whtet^OTj nainder of its ingredients an excess of i^id and the balance brandy. In anothexjcaal ih^whtekjrwas chteQy brandy.; _ 9 'chiefly wWfiky^flavored with acetio etfcMJ iDThe * "beer" was dLlguated in Lb other oases by one of the tvro abevnSfl poisons. .. "Coriander flavor," "whisky." '^SHB and "ani?e" masqueraded as "gin.^Sfi^H ky," "ohiefiy alc^oi/^'fusel ofl" and olj BEEB A>"I) G&I3XX., I men ugly, but beer seems to make, mfl stolid and callous and <jo 1 dbloode d. ' Tfl haunts of anarchists are lager ban sal&cifl frsA ?kA 1 nr.Aa.~r, 4~ OMft WlK ?uu UIO WBUUJLO 4U numuuj u?v vyvi. and beer drinkers. Says the Pacific Medio? Journal: n| A w?iisky drinker will commit only under the direct excitement of liqu^^^^HB % beer drinker is capable of doing It Long observation has assured, us thafl large proportion of marders, deliberate? planned and executed without passion oalice, with no other, motive than the lj^MH qnlsition of property or manor, ofte&a^^^^^| trifling value, ore perpetrated by drinkers. H We believe, further, that the. heredita^H|^^H evils of beer-drinking exceed those pil ceeding from ardent spirits; fiLm> cause the habit Is constant and without oxyamal interruptions, which admit of soH recuperation; secondly, because beer drji? ictr is practiced by both sexes more g%nenu^^^9H| than the spirit-jinking; and, thirdly. t9 cause the aulmAlizln? tendency of the hatfl Is more uniformly developed, thus auta;^H^^H| izing the presumption that the vicious suits are more generally transmitted. "the demon of thx hows. b When the demon of drink enters the borrS tin'angel of peace departs; poverty foil 01? in the demon's wane, for drink is a spen? ihriit vice. It is terrible to ruin tbe hodr. ? is terrible to ruin the home, but ittsrao*^?^^K tppHhlo f-n niin the son I. ttut inarkoI/Ckld^^^H intelligence. We ^tesplse the* thief; witfsay that this unloving, onthiiulng, xijqflB reasoning thing i6 a man? God made mall little less Than the angels, but the makes himself little less than the brute. Tbfl demon of drink goes up to high heaven atyH defies the mercy of^God, for^ no dmat^wgH ?wer side of the drunkard's grave empttaflj into hell There are 75.000 drunkards gota^H down to their graves every year. If this l9 -what drink will do, what will you do? WdBHH cannot sit down and fold our hands. If have a heart that loves humanity wemosfl M do something, and there is one. thing w^oanH do;'we can abstain frOm'the use o? taWsi-M eating liquors.- The way to stralfhtejpi^^^^H crooked stick is to bend it in the oppogltaBj neighbor of your strength il ^ is' weak.~8 DASH EOWH THZ CTTP. .'"..y Charles Lamb wrote: "The waters hav(H gone over me, bat out ef the black depths! could I be heard, I would cry out to ailtBQp^HBH who have set a foot in the perilous flood* D Could the youth to whom the flavor of thM first wine ^is, as delicious ^ag^the opwiittfjj desolation, and be made to understand whajl a drearv thine it to when be .shall feet self goiigdown a predpiee wfttfi. and passive will?to see &Ugpdliaeasemp(M^^^^H out of him. and yet not be able to time it was otherwise?to bear piteous spectacle of bis own ruin: jeUldAM see my feverish eye, feverish with last drinking, and feverish looking for tonigs'^H^^B repetition of tho folly; could hebntfeenjh^^^^H body of death out of wMah I ery hataprfj^H^H with feebler outcry to be delivered, if enough to make him dash the sovktUu^^^^H beverage to the earth, in all the pride Of mantling temptation.' A CHILD Tmrrwirtun. I This is bitter weather for children to etarvfl in. Yet two oases, and one even worse tha^MHfl starving, were called to the attention of authorities. Bat the saddest case of all that of Thomas Tferney, twelve jrean ol^^^^^H of No. 167 Tenth street, Jersey City. lad was found in a vacant lot at Tweit^H^BH and Erie streets, that. city, stupefied drink. He was taken to the Second Preoin^^^^^l Station House, and there he exhibited evq^^^^H symptom of delirium tremens. The surgeon was hurriedly sent lor andgsv^f^^^^HI child medicine to quiet his nerveejuid^^H^^B the danger passed away. Young Tlenh^KHH would not give the name of the dealer bad supplied him with liquor. If he decid^^H^BB later to name the 'man, eftieens stand to prosecute him to the full extfeat OfjaMHH| law. The boy was taken to the Oitylfy^BH^B pltal. and the doctors think be will though It will take his system a wear more to recover from the terrible slioot-a New York Journal. " A NEW JPZX II A Boston despatch tells of a new devie^l which liquor-sellers have to oonoeal evil doinsrs. One of the cleverest device* that have lately come to the notice of the pofl M lice was discovered on Wednesday at a SoutS Cove boose. The police felt oertaln that occupant of this house was dealing In UquoMB^H illegally, and they searched the place peatedly. but failed to find any sabfltaatll^^H^M signs of guilt. At last one man, while mak^HHH| ing a search at this house, happened to opai^H^BH the door to an innocent-looking tall clock when, lo! a faucet was revealed to hisstghf.H He turned the handle of the faucet, and bee^^^^H flowed from' lk freely. Tearing the elooj|^^m from tie wall, he s.:w a pipe, which lea mm t|^n| a cutely-covered hole In a dark cellar, wher^^^^H several barrels of beer were found.?Ohri^^^^^H tian Stateman. H BZXB DBINKIN'G IN CRUSES HOBTALITT. II Shepard Homans, the well-known actuar^M^HH long the President of the Provident Life euranee Society, shutters another popnla^^^^H superstition. He says; "It is my ooservi^^H^^H tion that malt liquor, taken habitually by tl^^^^^B moderate drinker, tends to increase morta^^^^^H ity. for it Is a fact that the rate of mortali^^^HH is greater among the Germans than amoi^^^HH our native American people."?Natton^H^^H| Temperance Advocate. rEMTEKANCE KZWS AKD NOTES. B The first glass has tbe most poison in A drunkard's throat has no bottom to Th-i cloven foot is often covered with patfl^H^f -|HH| Fill man with whisky and he can give pig points. H Most of the gambling dens are annexes^^^^^H the saloon. New Tork City has over 7000 man trapt^^^^^H licensed saloons. New York and Chicago have more th^HHJH twice as many saloons in proportion to lation as Boston has and almost four times mnnv as Philadelphia. Tbe devil agrees witb tbe man who claij^^|^H| be can drink or let it alon?. H Unn i? rta ? ueru JS uuc unuiuu^ L/iaw m tuv Stutes for every ninety-three of the A result of the Sunday closing of rumshc^^^^^HR in New York City >6 the reported incre^^^^^^B 3f $2,900,000 in tho workingmen's The startling statement is made that if tho liqu' saloons of the United States put on both sides of one street, aliow^^^^^H| twenty to each block, the street would be nlles A "College of Scientific Temperance" 3e established in the American (Method^^^^^^l University at Washington, and the Tem^HD^^^H mce Educational Association agrees to >250,000 for ... _. 00|