The ledger. [volume] (Gaffney City, S.C.) 1896-1907, April 07, 1898, Image 3
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THK JiEDCiER: GAFFNEY. 8. C.. APRIL 7, 1808.
MRS. YORKE’S RUSE.
y’nr aria rouud her waist to support
Yorkw stood in her bedroom
thinking over things. That her thoughts
were not pleasant could bo judged by
the troubled l<x)k on her pretty face.
She was not what one could call a
beautiful woman, but there was some
thing irresistibly fascinating about her.
Every one admired her. The big gray
eyes, with their lopg, dark lashes, would
sometimes seem black when they were
filled with merriment. Her hair was a
most delightful shade of red gold, and
her completion, being colorless, was as
pure as alabaster, and, moreover, Doris
was a very sensible little woman—a
woman who had been used to mixing
in society ever since she first entered
her teens, when she took the manage
ment of her father’s house after her
poor mother’s death; a little woman
who, underneath a guileless exterior,
had a tremendous amount of tact and
worldly knowledge, and therefore when
her father married again, although she
was perfectly friendly with her step
mother, recognized that it would be as
well for her to have a home of her own,
so, to the surprise of every one, she ac
cepted and married handsome Ucorgo
Yorke.
Why every one was surprised was
simply that George, who, enjoying tho
reputation of being the handsomest man
in bis set, also had the reputation of
being tho very worst flirt in Slowmin*
ster. Ho had been engaged times out of
number, while his flirtations were
countless. Everybody liked him in spite
of bis weakness for ladies’ society. Ho
was so good looking, so generous and
witty, so warm hearted, that, in spite
of his delinquencies, he was a universal
favorite. Still the news of his engage
ment to Doris caused quite a thrill of
astonishment, for tho girl was a flirt,
too, and every one pntphesied that tho
engagement would speedily bo termi
nated. But every one was wrong.
George was head over ears in love
with his pretty sweetheart and she was
equally in love with him; so after a
brief hue intensely happy, engagement
they got married and up to tho time our
story opens had led an ideally happy
life. Every one pointed them out us be
ing one of the few couples that effectu
ally disproved the legend of marriage
being a failure.
Yet here was Doris in her bedroom at
the Queen’s hotel at Bournemouth with
knitted brow and perplexed face.
Tho cause of her annoyance was very
simple. She atd George were staying
at Bournemouth for a few weeks.
She had been very delicate since the
birth of her second baby, and tho doc
tors had ordered her to go down there
for perfect rest and change.
George had been and was most de
voted and kind to her during her ill
ness, and of course had accompauicd his
bonny little wife to Bournemouth.
Everything had gone well until a
'v Mrs. Winn had appeared on tho scone—
Wyoung widow, who dressed most beau
tifully and was a coquette from the
crown of her dainty golden head to tho
solo of her faultlessly shod little foot.
She was so young and bright and
charming that it was no wonder that
the men speedily fell victims to her
charms. She flirted in an unconscious
sort of manner, and as she was witty
and sparkling she invariably had a
small court of admirers hanging about
her.
George qnickly got an introduction to
her and fell apparently a victim to the
wiles of the charming little widow.
Doris laughed at it at first and pa
tiently listened to George’s rhapsodies.
She did not mind him accompanying
Mrs. Winn for driving excursions to the
New forest or for picnics to the isle of
Wight till one evening she accidentally
overheard u conversation in which she
was spoken of as “poo’’, blind little
Mrs. Yorke, ” and heard herself describ
ed as “a little fool” for not preventing
tho flirtation that was going on between
her husband and Mrs. Winn. Her earn
burned and she was intensely mortified,
and that evening she in tho frankest
manner told George of the gossip that
was going on in the hotel.
“Such nonsense,” ho said angrily.
“Mrs. Winn is a charming womsui, and
she interests me, and I am sure that
you are not such an idiot as to bo jeal
ous, are you? Jealousy is a thing I
oould never understand.”
Doris did not answer, hut her lips
bad quivered a little. Without being
jealous, Doris was annoyed about it.
She did not like her husband’s name to
be connected with Mrs. Winn and for
her to pose as an injured, unsuspecting
wife. Yet how was it to ho avoided?
She wondered how she could bring
George to his senses, for, sure as she
was of his lovo and faithfulness, yet
through carelessness ho was likely to
drift into an unenviable position.
It was no good quarreling, she decid
ed, and worse than fatal for her to ap
pear jealous. Shu determined to speak
to him seriously that evening. They
were going to the theater. A very well
known actress was appearing that week,
and they had taken a box. Mrs. Winn
and Captain Beaumont were accompa
nying them.
Captain Beaumont was a man about
45—a brave officer and truo English
gentleman, and a very old friend, more
over, of Doris.
Just as the wes thinking tho old
problem over of her
flirtation and bow to prevent
burst into the room excitedly.
“Ob, Doris, darling," ho said.
**What do you think? Mrs. Winn has
met with an accident She slipped, and
she thinks ner ankle is sprained.”
“How very unfortunate," said Doris
a trifle coldly. “How did It occur?”
“I was biking with her this morn
ing," said George, “and somehow, as
she was getting off the machine, the
fell, and she is in awful pain. Poor lit
tle woman I I thought ubu would have
fainted.''
“Hjuw very pathetic," replied Doris.
“Did'’you have to utrry her in or put
n r."
husband’s stupid
it he
“Really, Doris,” said George angrily,
“i do not know why you sueir liko
that. Any one would think you wero
jealous of the poor little woman, and
of all things that I abhor it is a jealous
i woman. I am sure I should never think
I of being jealous of you, and”—
Doris got up with a sudden sparkle
1 in her eyes.
! “I can assure yon, George,” she said
laughingly, “I should never he jealous
of you, for if I thought I had any occa
sion I should speedily console myself.”
With these words the little golden
haired lady swept out of tho room, leav
ing her husband looking very much ex-
! orcised in his mind.
| “Horrible little cat!” she said.
“What a donkey ho is, but, oh, my lord,
j I’ll bring you to your souses!” And
] with these thoughts she swept into the
library.
“Oh, Captain Beaumont,” she said,
i “I want to speak to you. Will you do
mo a favor—at least, I know you will
j —just because I am Alice’s cousin, and
I know, if .»11 the people at the hotel
and my husband doesn’t, that you arc
head over ears in love with her and are
i just waiting to get her answer, and I
have always stood your friend and now
want you to do something for me.”
“Anything that 1 can do for you,
Mrs. Y'crke, I will,” said the captain.
So Doris sat down and told him some
thing at which he at first looked sol
emn and then burst out laughing.
“Agreed,” he said; “but, mind, we
must both write to Alice tonight.”
“Certainly,” answered Doris, with a
saucy toss of her pretty head.
That night George went into his
wife’s dressing room.
She looked wonderfully pretty, he
could not help thinking.
She wore a gown of the palest green
silk, with a very low bodice lavishly
trimmed with pearl embroidery. She
held out to him one slender white arm
for him to clasp the pearl bracelet on.
“You are a swell,” ho said, rather
nervously. “What aro you dressing like
this for?”
“You forget,” she replied sweetly.
“We are going to the theater.”
George flushed.
“1 do not think that we will go to
tho theater tonight. You know that we
arranged that Mrs. Wiuu and the cap
tain should go with us, hut she cannot
get off the couch, her ankle is so bad,
and 1 told her that we would stop at
homo. She will be so frightfully dull.
Besides, 1 am awfully tired, aud 1
should like to retire early.”
Ho glanced at Doris again. Would
she ho annoyed—he wondered. He knew
that she had had rather a dull day at the
I hotel, but still—well—she would not
\bo silly enough to misrepresent a few
common attentions to a pretty woman,
and he would take her to the theater
when they returned to town.
“That is very sweet of you,” said
Deris. “Poor dear, you do look tired
and worn. Upon my word, George, you
are beginning to look quite old. You
must go to led sooner of a night for the
future.”
George drew a sigh of relief.
Doris really was a dear little girl. ,
Such a sensible wife! He would be able
to resumo bis conversation with Mrs.
Winn on the possibilities of platonic
love, aud in the meantime Doris could
finish reading the latest novel. Then if
Mrs. Winn’s foot wero Letter he would
go to the theater next eveniug.
At dinner that night he could not
help noticing how provokingly pretty
Doris was. Sho laughed and chatted
and was in tho best of tempers, but
preseutly ho was astonished—he heard
her call just over tho table to Captain
Beaumont:
“What timo will tho brougham be
here tonight?”
"At 8:10, Mrs. Yorke. I did not
think that you would want to seo tho
first piece.”
“No; you were perfectly right.”
“Oh—er—Captain Beaumont, you
might have made a mistake. We aro
not going to the theater tonight. Mrs.
Wiuu is not very well. I have arranged
not to go because she would be so louu-
ly. “
“ Ye«, dear,” said Doris, in that clear
voice of hers. “I know yon aro going to
stop and keep Mrs. Winn company. It
is so sweet of you, but tho captain and
1 are going to tho theater together, aud
it is just about timo, isn’t it?”
And she got up composedly.
Before George could say a word she
was in the hall. The maid bad brought
her down her wrap, aud the captain was
carefully putting it around her, aud
then she kissed George on both cheeks.
“You poor, old darling," sho said,
“you do look tired. I hope you will
have a good timo with Mrs. Wiuu. Do
not wait up till I come home, lovo. Go
to ted if you are sleepy.”
With these words she went into the
brougham.
What a horrible eveniug George
spent! lie wondered what his wife was
doing. How pretty she looked aud how
devoted Beaumont had appeared to her!
Ho tried to read to Mrs. Wiuu, but it
was not a success. Hu was distrait and
miserable. After all, Mrs. Wiuu was
really not pretty. Her hair was dyed,
her eyes, like her comploxion, made
up. Ho went to his own room at 10
] o’clock and moodily went to bed. He
pretended to he asleep, hut at 11:30 ho
was quite conscious of Doris coming in,
bright, flushed and animated.
“Poor old darling,’’ he heard her
murmur. “So he has gone to bed. ”
“But 1 urn nut asleep,” be said
wrathfully.
"Just fancy!" rejoined Doris sweetly.
“I went to the drawing room thinking
you would 1m* with Mrs. Winn.”
“Hung Mrs. Winn I” he said testily.
“1 was tired and had a headache and
had to go to bed.”
“Iain so sorry,” rejoined his wife,
“for, oh, 1 had the most delightfi)
evening! And, do you know, I have ar
ranged with Captain Beaumont that
while you go biking with Mrs. Wiuu
we will go for some drives. You know
I bate cycling, but 1 love driving, and
ho has got his dcgcart dewn here, aud
so wo will have some lovely times.”
“Mrs. Winn has sprained her ankle,”
answered George.
“Y’es, darling,” said 1m wife, “1
know. Of course she cannot cycle whilo
her ankle is bad, hut of course yen
can read to her. ’ ’
But George did not answer.
The next clay and for many days after
George was an intensely unhappy man.
His wife was charming. Always polite
and loving to him, bat she no longer
remonstrated with him for his flirta
tious with tho charming little widow—
in fact, 'ike rather encouraged it than
otherwise. But he had the- uncomfort
able consciousness that while he was
flirting with Mrs. Wiuu Doris was oat
with Captain Beaumont.
Then he began to compare his wife
with the little widow, aud he began to
see bow much sweeter and more charm
ing Doris was. Ho got bad tempered,
aud sho was always good tempered aud
affectionate with him, but ho could not
help seeing and feeling that she was
quite as happy with Captain Beaumont
as he was in bis company.
“Where are yon going to?” he said
one day when bo saw her trim aud
smart in a tailor made gown.
“We are going for a walk to Bos-
combe. ”
“We? Who are ‘we:’ ” he queried.
“Captain Beaumont and I.”
“Captain Beaumont and you?” he
echoed in a sudden fury. “It is always
Captain Beaumont—either walking or
riding with you. ’’
“My dear,” sho replied calmly, “you
aro not so silly as to be jealous, are you?
Jealousy is a thing I could never un
derstand. Of all things 1 abhor it is a
jealous man. I should never think of
you for one being jealous of Captain
Beaumont. Look how much older ho is
than 1 am.”
"I do not care a pin,” said George,
“if be is older or younger. 1 know you ;
cro my wife, aud it is my place to take
you out for rides and drives and to bring
yon flowers, and I am not going to al ,
low a single man to he hanging after
you always aud to have every one in !
the hotel speaking about it. You go out
driving with him, be takes you to the ,
theater, gives you flowers, aud you al- '
low him to pay you any amount of at- :
teution.”
“My dear,” said Doris, “you aro
really exciting yourself. I am sure you
are far too much of a man of the world
to he jealous. Besides, you take Mrs.
Winn for drives and you give her flew- j
ers. You hang about and have all the
people in the hotel speaking about it,
aud when 1 receive attentions why
should you worry about it?”
“Because I love you, Doris,” said
George affectionately. “Because you
aro my wife. I do not care a hang for
that little fool of a widow—a little
empty headed doll. 1 flirted with her— '
well—because I never could help mak
ing on idiot of myself for some silly
woman. You know Hove you aud I am j
not going to have you spoken about and
talked about like that little fool. If you ,
waut to go to tho theater, I will take ;
you, aud if you waut flowers I can buy i
them for yon; if you want any one to (
ride with you, I will give you my so- !
ciely—and, Doris, I Jove you—aud upon
my soul you will drive me mad alto- I
got her if you do not leave off flirting.” |
“Oh, you old goose!” cried Doris, i
when sho had recovered from her fit of
laughter. “But you aro so like a man.
I, forsooth, must not be jealous of you,
but, oh, let me flirt with another man
and yon aro jealous cf mo. You can give
a widow baskets of flowers, but let a j
poor man give me even a spray aud, j
oh, what a to do! George, darling, yon |
are a silly goose! You are very hand- j
some, hut you have not a grain of sense ,
in your silly bead. Wo have only been !
having a lark with you. Why, Captain j
Beaumont is engaged to he married to
my cousin Alice, privately, aud 1 must |
confers that I asked him to flirt with {
mo just to prove to you that what is j
sauce for the goose is also sauce for tho ;
gander—aud you seemed so fond cf Mrs. ;
Winn!”.
“Nonsense, ” said George viciously.
“I hate In r.’’
“Aud you paid her so much atten
tion,’’ continued Doris maliciously.
“Sho told mo yesterday that she was
going to he married to a man out in In- j
dia,” interpolated George.
"And you said that you would never i
bo guilty of jealousy.”
“I was an ass,” said George.
Aud then he took Doris in his arms
end kissed aud hugged her.
“Upon my soul,” ho said in a few
piomeuts, “I won’t do it any more.
Thu game is not worth the caudle.
Don’t you flirt, and I won’t.”
“Flirt!’’ quoth Doris, with her gold
en head up to his shoulder. “1 should
never think of such a thing, for 1 love
you, George—love you with all my
heart. But you kno k lovo only feeds
and thrives on love, and you cannot keep
anything alive unless you nourish it.”
“I have been an ass,’’said George
repentantly.
When ho met Captain Beaumont in
the smoking room afterward, he looked
at him rather sheepishly, and then he
held out his hand aud said, “Well, old
follow, 1 know all about it.”
“Poor little girl," said the gallant
captain. “It was very plucky of her, but
I could not have kept up much longer
the flirtatious with her, because Alico
and I are going to he married in six
weeks. ”
• a • it a • •
Captain Beaumont r.ml Alice are a
Very happy married couple, and the
only ones that are perhaps a shade hap
pier are Doris and George.
George never goes in for* flirtation
now. He has too vivid a recollection of
the misery that was caused him by Do
ris’ ruse. — Cincinnati Comuitruial
Tribune.
.Storm KITeot.
Willie*-Do you suppose I will ever
have a gn at, wiry beard like yours?
Willie’s Father—Mebbe, though at
present tho wires, in your case, are
down.—Indianapolis Journal.
CURSE OF INSOMNIA.
THE HIGHWAYMAN.
VIEWS OF A RUSSIAN WOMAN WHO
HAS STUDIED THE SUBJECT.
Bninn of tlie Caiiftrs anil Ilrnirdir* Loara-
ecl by Experiment anil Invefttisation.
Tho Important I’art tho lllood Plays In
tho Matter of Sleep.
A mine of information concerning
various treatments prescribed for vie-
thus of insomnia is contained in a new
scientific work by Marie de Mouaccine,
a Russian woman who has consulted
hundreds of the highest authorities on
tho subject and who has made many
original experiments. Her work has
been translated into English.
Cold water bags applied to tho fore
head aud hot ones to the back of tho
neck are recommended to produce sleep,
since by their means the blood is driven
from the brain. Hot baths increase the
size of the blood vessels cf the skin and
produce tho same effect Another meth
od of freeing the brain and causing sleep
—one which will be found acceptable
to every one—is the eating of a light
supper just before retiring. The blood
in this case is sent from the brain to tho
stomach, where it is needed in digestion.
Experiments prove that monotony is
an effective sonree of fatigue to the
brain, which organ appears to automat
ically drain off its blood where fatigued
to a normal degree. Almost every ouo
has tried the experiment of counting
himself to sleep. Men have been readily
put to sleep by being made to hear wa
ter drop constantly. A watch ticking
under the pillow will produce tho same
result until one becomes so accustomed
to its monotony that it is no longer
heard. According to the Russian au
thority, old timo nobles of her country
were put to sleep by their servants,
commanded to scratch their heels until
lapse of consciousness occurred. The
lullaby of the American mother pro
duces sleep because of its monotony.
A Pupngo Indian recently told the
writer that the native doctors among
his people sit at the bedsides of tbo sick
aud sing monotonous chants, repeated
over and over, throughout the whole
night. No additional treatment beyond
conjuring is applied. Many patients are
doubtless cured, the only virtue of tho
treatment being the relief of pain and
the nourishment of the system by sleep
produced by monotony. Repeated rook
ing prodnees sleep, as does repeated
brushing of the hair. Kordas mothers
put their infants to sleep by scratching
them monotonously upon their abdo
mens. Spauisn mothers accomplish tbo
same resalt by continuously stroking
the spines of their infants. In the last
two cases sleep is produced not only by
monotony, but by tho attraction of tho
blood to the body by the stimulus cf
touch.
Tho manipulations of the hypnotist
1 tend to fatigue the mind through monot
ony. Tho writer has seen subjects hyp-
I uotized while counting their breaths,
j Hypnotic sloop, however, liko sleep pro
duced by narcotics, or amcstbetics, in-
! jeres rather than refreshes (he mind as
a rule. Sufferers from insomnia should
| never court sleep in a lighted room.
: Experiments show that light fulling
upon the eyelids causes a rush of blood
to the brain. Tho head should not bo
kept too low, lest gravity produce the
same result.
Insomnia is found to be characteristic
of persons who blush, laugh or weep
readily and whoso pulse is apt to quick
en upon the slightest provocation. Loss
of sleep most frequently results from
overwork cf either mind or body. Over
strain of either kind dilates tbo blood
vessels of the brain aud eventually par
alyzes them. Extreme cold produces the
same result. Experiments also show
that exercise of the emotions causes
rush of blood to the bruin and sleepless
ness if occurring near bedtime.
There is an interesting theory that
wo require sleep in proportion to the
scarcity of red corpuscles in our blood.
All people, therefore, do not correspond
in their need cf sleep. Many authorities
agree that the degree to which sleep is
needed depends upon tho strength oi
consciousness. Children, savages and
idiots readily fall asleep because their
consciousness is ill developed, and
therefore readily fatigued. Persons of
strong will power and tuurked individ
uality require relatively little sleep. It
is difficult to overfatigue their con
sciousness.
Young infants are found to demand
sleep the majority of tho hours of the
day, those up to <» weeks of ago requir
ing -0 hours, the t-me being gradually
decreased to from ten to eight hours un
til the ago of puberty. During the age
of puberty more sleep is required. After
puberty from nine to seven hours are
necessary. After complete growth from
eight to six, aud in middle ago even
less, until feebleness begins, when tho
sleeping hoars should gradually in
crease. With increased intellectual
growth, however, insomnia naturally
increases even during old ago.
Too much sleep is thought to be
harmful by some authorities. Since
consciousness requires waking hours for
development, too much sleep will rob it
of its education. During sleep man
grows like n vegetable, hot his mind
gets no ottcrcise, which its development
demands. Wero a child to sleep 20
hours a day until 10 years old, he would
doubtless have a feeble mind. Children
who sleep too much are found upon in
vestigation to bo fatter than those who
sleep at a normal rate, bat tboir intel
lects are duller aud their musolea weak
er. Insomnia, on tho other hand, is al
ways a dangerous symptom in children.
—St. Louis Globe-Democrat.
Did jon ever a robber with a phtol a:.tl
a knife,
Whoic prompt and eonlial greeting “Tour
money or your life,"
Who, while you etood n-trenb’.'-. j with your
hiinds above your head.
Toed: your gold, mort gruuly o'" ri g to r_... ••
you in told bud?
Well, I once r: t a robber. Iv i g ho..:
to tea.
The way was rather lc.:cly, though rot ye'
too dark to seo
Th..t the sturdy rogue who stopped t!:cr
was very fully armed.
But I'm honest in maintaining that I didn't
feel alarmed.
Bo was panting hard from running, so I, being
still undaunted,
| Very boldly faced the rascal and demanded
what he wanted.
; I was quite as big us he was, and I wus not out
of breath.
. So 1 didn't fear his shooting mo or stubbing
me to death.
In answer to my questions the highwayman
raised an arm
And pointed it straight at me, though I still
felt no alarm.
Bo did not a.-k for money, but what ho said
was this,
“You cannot pass, papa, unless you give your
boy a kissl"
—American Agriculturist.
MIL1) MURDERERS.
CONVICT TRAMPS THAT INFEST CER
TAIN PARTS OF SIBERIA.
A GOLF COURSE.
No Calamity.
Vexed Wife—There is no calamity
that can befall a women that I bavo
not suffered.
Aoiiable Hashand-—Wrong, my dear.
Now, yon have never been a widow.
Vexed Wife—1 said calamity, sir.—
Loudon Tit-Bits.
The Ground Required and How the Links
Should He Arranged.
From 80 to 90 acres are required for
a full 18 hole course, entailing a large
iniital expense in constmction and
heavy permanent charges for up keep,
to say nothing of the item of rent. But
golf does not absolutely depend upon
how many holes you have. Their play
ing quality is much mere important.
Nino or even six good holes will give
better golf than 18 short or indifferent
ones, ami it is never good policy to over
crowd tbo playing area. Since 9 aud G
are both multiples of 18, two or three
rounds of a short coarse will make up
tho perfect number of 18 boles, aud it
is for this reason that 7, 10 and 12
hole courses are seldom seen. For a club
of, say, 30 to 50 members a 0 hole course
should be large enough to accommodate
all who may be likely to play at any
one time, but with a longer list of play
ing members it is apt to get blocked. A
0 hole course will give 100 per cent
more playing room than one of G holes.
It is not always possible to obtain ex
clusive control of even the 25 or 40
acres that we will need for our moder
ate sized course. Ground under cultiva
tion or in bay is impossible, and the
same Is true of woodland and hopelessly
rocky fields. There ara obvious objec
tions to the use of land upon which cat
tle are grazed, and the hoof marks are
particularly destructive to the putting
greens. On the other hand, a sheep pas
ture may be used to excellent advantage,
and indeed sheep aro purposely grazed
on many of the big golf courses for their
good offices in keeping the grass short.
Almost any farmer should he willing to
give a club tho privilege of playing over
his sheep hind at a very moderate rent
al, and the arrangement generally works
well for both parties.
Of hazards on the course there are the
natural aud the artificial. No hazard
should cost the player more than one
legitimate stroke to extricate his hall
(although he may very possibly take a
large number), and the difficulty should
always be a visible one. Blind pits end
the like aro unfair traps and should at
least have their position marked by spe
cial flags. At the seashore tho sand
bunker is the natural and traditional
hazard, and its ordinary substituto on
an inland course is the cop hunker, or
simple ditch partially filled with sand.
In making a cop bunker tho turf should
first be removed from a strip of ground
14 to 1G feet wide, tbo length of tho
strip depending upon the distance of the
hazard from tee or patting green. Tho
farther away from either tee or green
tho longer must ho the bunker, so that
wildly driven halls may not escape its
clutches. The excavation should he from
18 inches to two feet in depth, and the
earth removed should bo heaped up in a
mound three to live feet in height, with
tho open trench on tho near side, aud
then hanked with tho turf to insure it:i
preservation. The sides should have a
tolerably steep slope to keep the balls
from running over, biu they should nut
La so perpendicular cs to be unplayable.
Tho trench sbonld now ho filled with
fine white sand to within a few inches
of the playing level of the field; other
wise tbo ditch will either bo muddy or
sun baked, and neither condition is fa
vorable to good golf.
In tbo up keep of the average inland
course the chief difficulty is to keep the
grass short upon the fair green or course
between the holes. It must he short,
or tho player will never get a decent
brussie lie, and tho halls will ho lost
with vexatious frequency. If tho graz
ing of sheep will not keep tho grass
down, it must then he regularly cut, and
preferably by a horse lawn mower. Thu
ordinary buy machine cannot ho set to
cut close enough to tho ground.—Har
per’s Rouud Table.
Spook Doctor*.
How will doctors, who aro just now
doing their best to repress unregistered
practitionera, regard tho invasion of
their domain by spiritualistic mediums?
One of these gentlemen bus lately been
supplying prescriptions supposed to havo
been written by u celebrated doctor
who some timo ago left the pursuit of
terrestrial medicine for the spirit world,
but who seems to he anxious to con
tinue his practice by means of trance
mongers. If this be not unfair competi
tion, it is difficult to know what might
reasonably bo regarded as coming under
that head. A bona fide chemist would
naturally object to make up a prescrip
tion alleged to he written by a defunct
person, hut it seems that apothecaries
who believe in spiritualism are not
averse to compounding medicines from
these eerie documents. A mahatmutical
phurmucopada will in all probability
people tbo spirit world much more rap
idly than bus hitherto been tbo case.—
London Telegraph.
They Commit Deeil* of Hlood Without Ir
ritation or PbmIoo - A Queer Klntl of
Religion—An Incident Illustrating Their
Peculiar Idcua.
The feature of Siberian life which
most impresses a traveler is the convict
tramp. He has escaped from the mine-
and is wearily tramping across tho
snowy wastes, cold aud hungry and con
stantly hiding from pursuit, only to bo
finally caught and taken back.
Liberty is sweet, but the chance of
ultimate escape is very small, as they
all know, and that they make the es
cape at all must be due to the fact that
even the terrible privations of the jour
ney aro a welcome change from tho liv
ing grave of the mines.
To discourage attempts at escape tho
government has granted the lawful priv
ilege to any one to shoot them on sight.
The convicts, not knowing friends from
enemies, are obliged to avoid villagc»
during the day aud to have recourse to
highway robbery to satisfy their wants.
Generally speaking these bradlagi aro
the worst of criminals.
One of the leading characteristics of
the bradlagi which distinguish them
from other murderers and freebooters is
their complete indifference aud absence
of irrigation aud passion when commit
ting a deed of blood.
Bnt what astonishes one most is the
combination of the most hardened crime
with some religious ideas aud also a cer
tain degree of humility born of tho se
vere discipline of bard labor of the
mines, which produces a show of pity
toward the victim they are destroying
in the most cold blooded manner.
Misfortune—and the bradlagi is one
of the most unfortunate of beings—
unconsciously turns their thoughts to
ward religion. In justification of their
crimes they invariably say, “We aro
poor sinners, but also most unfortunate,
aud therefore God will forgive us all
our sins.”
Whenever they see a cross, they al
ways take off their caps and cross
themselves. In conversation they are
very fond of quoting what at first sight
seem Scripture texts, but what in reali
ty are phrases made by themselves for
their own justification, such as “God
hates the rich ones of this world,” “Sin
committed in perfect humility is no
sin,” “If thou must kill a man, don’t
kill his sonL ”
Their peculiar ideas are exemplified
in the following incident. In one of tbo
more important villages there lived two
men, a Russian aud a Pole, sent there
for some small offeuse. Both beiug shoe
makers, they entered into partnership
and tried to gain a decent living.
One day they went some 20 versts
from the village on an excursion, and
coming to a few straggling bushes they
separated aud begun to gather little
pieces of wood.
As ill lack would havo it, a party of
13 tramps just then passed. Perceiving
(he Pole alone, they surrounded him in
an instant. The Russian, who was but
a few puces off, bid in the bushes and
witnessed what followed.
Hu could not help his friend, as be
knew that if he showed himself he
would be killed at ouce.
“Hail, friend,” said the tramps, tak
ing off their caps. “Bud luck to yo<t
that you have met us, but you see it i*
not our fault. Such is tho will of God.
How much mouey havo you got?”
‘‘Five rubles, which I will give yon,
as well as my clothes, if you only span!
my life. ”
“ Your life is of no use to us, and we
would really like to let you go; hut yon
see, dear friend, we havo oar laws, which
wo cannot avoid. If you were to escape
alive, you would report us to tho po
lice, aud wo might be caught. Therefore
forgive us poor sinners, hut die you
must.”
All this conversation passed in a sub
dued voice as if in gentle persuasion.
Tho countenances of the murderers Lore
no trace of auger or fierceness.
Tho Polo tried to soften them with
his prayers when ouo of tho tramps,
who appeared to he the chief, took him
kindly by the hand aud said in a friend
ly tone:
“Good man, don’t he a baby and ask
for a life we cannot give yon. You and
wo are bo h the children of cue Father.
Let us finish this business in a brother
ly fashion. By resisting you will only
suffer more. Choose which death you
prefer — tho knife or stick nr river,
which is very deep, or perhaps you
would prefer to kill yourself. We will
even allow that.”
“I will not willingly take my own
life, ” ho said. “God has given it to
me, and I will not assail it. Kill mu
with your sticks, but pray kill mo at
ouce.”
“Be quite assured. We havo had a
great deal of practice, and yon wou'l
feel anything.”
“And now let me pray.”
He knelt down aud prayed. When bo
had finished, ho looked at bis murder
ers, standing silently rouud him.
"Are you ready?” asked the chief.
“Ready, ” he answered in a low voice.
It was his last word. A few blows
with a strong stick on the temple
stretched him senseless on the gronnd.
The trumps then stripped the corpse,
tied a stone to the nock and threw it
into the river.
They then expressed to one another
their regret at beiug obliged to kill
him, praised bis good qualities and
went away.—Pearson’s Weekly.
Batter Thau a Steam Heated Plat.
Uezuchet is inspecting a lodging that
suits him, but seems a little cold.
“Ob, you'U never be cold hare in tho
winter!” says the onnclerge. “There’*
a stove in the basement aud a fur deal*
er's shop on the first floor. ”—UauloU,,
_ .