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AT THE TURN OF THE ROAD.
fhere the rough road turns, and the valley
Smiles bright with its balm and bloom.
se'll forget the thorns that have pierced the
And the nights with their grief and gloom.
And the sky will smile. and the stars will
An.I we'll lay us down in the light to dream.
We shall Jay us down in the bloom and light
With a prayer anl a te:tr for rest.
As tired children who ereep at night
To the love of a mother's breast.
And for all the grief of the stormy p:azt,
Best shall be sweeter At last-at last
Sweeter because of the weary way
And the lonesome night anl lon-.
While the darkness drifts to the perfect day
With its splendor of light and song.
The light that shall bless us and kiss us and
And sprinkle the roses of heaven above us
-Frank L. Stanton. in Atlanta Constitution.
A PNK SILK PARASOL
Br nrrH SPENCER.
HAT are we going
to do now?" quer
"If Pa had only
stayed quietly at
home !" sighed Mar
"But he didn't.'
said Helen. "And
the lecture tour
ended in disaster;
and he has returned
with empty pock
ets, and a cold which
"Oh dear! and we were so well oft
before little Mother married again,"
Margaret murmured, dolefully.
"Treason !" cried Helen, stoutly;
"not one word against Pa Pendergast
-the dearest old visionary thing that
"He certainly tries to make a for
tune for us," smiled Anne.
"And has only succeeded in reduc
ing us to the verge of-beggary!'
"The expressman is stopping at the
gate," said Helen; "but, of course,
it's a mistake."
"Yes; nothing comes to us now
but trouble," ended Margaret.
But a moment laterand Helen called
back, ecstatically, "Oh, girls, it is for
us, sure as you live !" Then, less joy
fully, "But-there's seventy-five cents
to pay !"
At last the necessary amount was
made up, the expressman departed,
and the girls and their mother, in a
state of unusual excitement, gathered
around the huge, irregular bundle
which, by their united efforts, they
had dragged into the middle of the
"Who could have sent it?" won
"What do you suppose it is?" ques
"It's-old cloth-s," Margaret said,
"Madge!" in a general chorus of
But even as Helen cut the strings
the lopsided bundle burst asunder and
shed its contents of crumbled ball
gowns and all kinds of forlorn and
dAraggled finery upon the floor.
Anne bit her lip, Margaret's eyes
flamed wrathfully and Helen laughed.
But the mother's face worked piteously,
and it was all that she could do to keep
back the tears.
All, her life till now, Mrs. Pender
gast had been used to comfort, and
even luxury ; and she had always
shown so much tact and delicacy in
sending their own left-off but useful
garmentsto those who were poorer than
themselves. And it was a bitter hu
miliation to her now, when, for the
first time, a mass of dingy and inap
propriate finery had been literally
dumped upon her doorstep, without
any accompanying message from the
rich, city cousin, from whom it un
doubtedly had been sent.
"There isn't a practical thing among
them!" laughed Helen, who was
adorning herself with whatever came
first to hand. And even Margaret
could not help smiling at the comical
picture her pretty young sister made
with a crushed French bonnet perched
coquettishly on her fair curls, a faded
and altogether too-ample olive red
ingote enveloping her pretty form, and
above her head the bony skeleton of
a once splendid parasol-its melan
choly ribs uplifted now, as if imploring
Anelaughed hysterically ; but just
then Pa's querulous voice wa heard
in the room above, and the mother
was glad of an excuse to hasten away.
Night came. The debris had dis
appeared, and the letter of thanks to
Cousin Frances, which Helen had
volunteered to write, was finished.
"Listen. girls, while I read it," she
said; "but don't interrupt. If yoni
think of anything more to say just wait
and I'll add it on at the end.
"My generous rich relative," she
began, and, regardless of the ristng
murmur of dismay, she hastily went
on: "It was so.thoughtful of you to
send us such a lot of old clothes (which
we can't possibly make use of), aul
not to prepay the express (which is un
commonly high in this part of the
world). We now understand why it
is 'more blessed to give than receive !'
But, unfortunately, we don't know
any one who would take such stuff as a
gift, unless it's the ragman"~
' "You shan't send such a letter !"
and Margaret snatched the perfectly
prboper little note she had written
from Helen's hand, while the yon-g
girl laughed merrily over t be sueess
of her impromptu nonsense. She loved
-.to tease her sober elder sisters. and with
her happy disposition she fouind a way
of getting fun out of every thing.
But anxious and busy days came
after this. Pa Pendergast was seriouis
ly ill for a time, and before he was
really able to be around again he was
planning another oft those disastrous
lecture tours, with which he was alway-s
trying to retrieve their fallen for
tunes. At last, however, they hatl
managed to persuade him to puit it off
unt:l the fall.
There was no family in all the v-il
lage who had once .st'od so high. or
who were mo'r.' r'spect edl in these
days of thJeir mfisfor'tunes. "Pt
(ailings awl pood guiI:dities wer-' :likhe
freely aiseased'~. and~ his wi c'ne
miseratedl for having allowe I her vis:
sonary souse the control of her coml
fortable little fortune, whic. in or
his childlike incapacity for husinss
had disappeured in an incredibly short
number of years.
Anne and Margaret were now the
main support of the family, one
teaching music and the other having
a good position in the villAge school.
The "little Mother" aud Helen
were the "household angels:" and it
was no light task to keep things nice
and comfortable with their extremely
limited purse, and to prevent "Pa"
from seeing too plainly the ruin he
The neighbors were very kind, and
often some little delicacy found its
w ay to their scanty table-given with
so much friendly good-will- that sensi
tive little Mrs. Pendergast was no
more hurt by the attention than the
neighbors were when Helen brought
them bunches of Mayflowers from the
woods in spring.
But of late Helen's fingers had been
busier than ever. Upon careful re-ex
amination the "bundle" had shown
possibilities which had not been ap
parent at the first. And the old party
dresses, dyed-for Helen had mas
tered the dyepot's mysteries long ago
--were now transformed into four
pretty silk petticoats which would
"rustle delightfully" under their
"Just the last things in the world
any of us really wanted," Helen ad-!
mitted; "but the silk wasn't fit for 1
anothe? thing, and as it didn't cost us
anything I guess we can afford to be
'swell' for once !"
Then in some magical way her deft
fingers had fashioned for herself as:
dainty a gown from the volumincus
old gray opera cloak and the best of
the well worn redingote as ever a
pretty maiden wore to church on a
bright Sunday in spring.
The battered Paris bonnet bloomed
anew with apple blossoms, freshened
over the kettle's reviving steam. But
the crowning feature of the costume*:
was a beautiful pink silk parasol,
which Cousin Frances would certainly i
never have recognized as the "skele- <
ton" of her famous bundle, newly
clad in the pink lining of the opera'
cloak, and adorned with the freshest
flounces of the chiffon gown.
"Girls, how do I look?" was Helen's
anxious question, as arrayed for the
first time in all her glory she was i
about to start with them for church.
"Just too sweet and lovely !" Mar- I
garet said, with enthusiasm; and the
mother, who thought her girls were )
always perfect, echoed Margaret's;
But Anne was troubled. Such finery
seemed hardly in accord with their
straightened circumstances, or with
the almost Quakerish simplicity of the'
quiet town; but Helen was so happy
that she could not bring herself to
speak her doubts which, after all:
might prove without foundation.
She was keenly alive, however, to
the sensation which Helen's appear
ance caused, and which, all during I
the service, divided the attention (
of the congregation with the I
good minister's. words. -And
after the service, Anne's straining ears
caught more than one fragment of un
friendly criticism, which seemed float
ing in the air.f
"It does beat all," old Mrs. Sharp
whispered to her neighbor, "how folks
behind-hand in their rent can buy such
"#'raps Pa Pendergast has some
how made his everlastin' iortune," was:
the audible answer. H
"Did you see how Chan Bassett
kept lookin' at her? He can't afford
to dress a wife like that. I heard Mis'
Bassett tell him so durin' the collec
"Jest see that pink parasol ! Why,
'Many couldn't get one, plain dark
blue, for less'n five dollars. An' silk
petticoats, too, I know by the rustlin'.
They're up an' down extravagant, or
else they ain't so poor as they've been
"An' the neighbors sendin' 'em in
cake an' pie at every bakin' !" 1
Helen's cheeks were like roses as;
they went on their homeward way,
and Anne wondered if she, too, had
overheard the gossips' whisperings, or
whether the deeper flush was only the
refection from the pink silk parasol,
which she held so bravely overhead.
Margaret was less observing, and wasi
evidently quite unconscious of any un-V
usual stir going on around them.
It was the first Sunday in many
months that Chauncey Bassett had not I
walked home with Helen. He had
been with his mother on the church
steps when they came out, but he had
only bowed and then had looked away.
It 'was certainly strange, thought
Helen, but---if he didn't want to come,
he needn't ! And no one, not even
Anne, should know she cared !
The weeks rolled around, and sum
mer followed spring. Every Sunday
Helen went to church in her brave at
tire, and walked home afterward with
Anne and Margaret; and Chauncey
She never mentioned him; but
Anne, watching her darling with jeal
ous eyes, saw how her cheeks grew
paler, and how listless she seemed to:
be as the summer days went on.
One night as Anne lay pondering
upon these things, with Margaret*
asleep beside her, she heard a stifled
sob from the cot where Helen lay.
That was all; but it was not long be
fore Anne had determined what to do.
And the next day, on her way home
from the village, she stopped at Mrs.
Bassett's for the first time since that
spring Sunday when Chauncey had
lingered at his mother's side.
"It's ever so long since I've had a'
chance to run in," Anne began, with'
friendly apology. "But I've been so
busy, teaching right along. It was'
fortunate for us that the Bentons
wanted their children to make up
all they lost when they had
whooping cough last spring. If'
it wasn't for that and for two of
Mararets music scbolars, who have
Ikept right on, I hardly know what we'
should have done?"
It was not like Anne to speak so
freev of their affairs; but Mrs. Bas
stt showed no signs of unbending yet.
"You know how it is,.' Anne con
iued, with heightened color. "Pa
ries to do all lhe c-an; but he's always
"Then that last lecture tour wasn't
a' sucess? saidl Mi-s. Basse~tt. falling~
iito Anne's skilfully openedl net.
"Eveyone thought he must 'a' been
ma~kini money, the way Helen came
"And diflnt she look sweet?" cried
Anne. "But people shouldn't judge
by appearances! i'm going to tell
vou, Mrs. Bassett tho' I should hate to
have it get around. A cousin of
mother's in the city sent us a-a bun
lie of old clothes. And Helen is just
the most ingenious, most economical
irl you ever saw! Those things
weren't suitable for us at all, and I
thought they'd be of no use whatever;
but Helen turned them and dyed them,
ind made the old worn out party silks
into the prettiest petticoats you ever
aw-and one for each of us! Then
,he poor child needed a new dress,
badly; she hadn't a thing fit to wear
o chureb, and we couldn't afford to
buy anything; so she went to work
md somehow made that pretty gray
mud olive gown out of just
aothing! And her bonnet, too-you
>ught to have seen it when it came!
nd," hysterically, "all that never
yost us a single penny !'
"You don't mean to say !" ejacu
ated Mrs. Bassett, in amazement.
"But-that pink silk parasol?" she
vueried. "'Mandy Ward priced one
in the city, an' they asked-sixteen
"She made that, to->!'' cried Anne.
'Oh, you don't half know how clever
Eelen is! You won't let this go any
further. though?" she added, anxious
V. "I wouldn't like every one to
inow, because-well, because it was
:he first time any one had ever sent
Ad things to us-and poor little
"I won't tell a livin' soul but Chan,'
.rs. Bassett said, earnestly. "But I
nust tell him. He'll be home to
2ight, you know, over Sunday. An'
-an' I'm comin' 'round to see your
na, right soon."
Anne went her way with a lighter
eart; and she had not far before
/hauncey Bassett himself came into
riew. 'To her surprise he ,topped.
"It's ever so long since i've seen
rou," he began awkwardly.
"Why haven't you been around?"
he asked in her pleasant way, noting
uriously his wane and troubled face.
"I'll tell you why," be said, sud
enlv. "It's because I can't think of
ny one or anything but-Helen! And
never realized until-until one Sun
ay morning in the spring' (Anne
ighed) "how far above the farmer's
on-the poor book-keepei-she was.
['hen I saw that the best I could ever
iope to give her would not be worthy
f her-not even as much as she is
lving now" (Anne smiled); "and I
[ knew that it would be better for me
o-to forget her-before she ever
lreamed I had begun to care. I
hought I could turn my thoughts
way ; but I can't; and though it is
nadness to think she could ever care
or me, yet I must see her and tell
er; and, inless you tell me not to, I
m coming this very night.
"Come," said Anne, with a reassur
Supper was over and the girls-were
>utting the things away. As Margaret
lisappeared in the china closet with a
)ile of plates, Anne said cheerily:
Oh, I met Chauncey Bassett as I was
oming home, and, do you know, he
aid he was coming around-- to-night."
"Anne! you-you didn't say-any
"You dear little goose' Not a
cord that the town crier couldn't pro-~
elaim with propriety. But I thought
xe was looking thin and worried, poor
ellow. There, I'll wipe the teacups,
or you had better go light the lamp
n the parlor, and put on your pretty.
-ay gown, directly."
"If he had waited until he had seen
iis mother, I'd have hated him--al-'
nost," thought Anne, an hour later,
hen, above the murmur of voices in
;he little parlor she heard Helen's!
augh ring gayly, as of old.
And the next day, being Sunday,
he village gossips had something new
o talk of ; for Mrs. Bassett actually
vaited and kissed Helen on the church
)orh. And Chauncey walked home
vith her again, as he used to do; but
hough his face was radiant, no one!
~ould get sight of her smiles and blushes!
hen, for carefully and almost rever
~ntially Chaneey was shielding her
ovely face with the pink silk parasol.
To Sterilize Water.
A savant of the University of Gene
ra publishes in the Swiss Medical Re
riew a new method of sterilizing water,
:hat is killing any organic germs that
nay be in it, which is said to be at
>nc~e simple and efficacious. The pro-'
ess consists in stirring into the water
ismall quantity of permanganate of
otash, which will instantly destroy
y living organism that the water
nay contain, purifying perfectly even
;tagnant water taken from putrid
ools. The permanganate imparts a
olor to the water, which is not fit to
rink in that condition. The addition
>f a little charcoal in a finely-pow
ered state (bone charcoal being
ecommended for the purpose), at once
relieves the water from the perman
ganate, and makes it absolutely pure
ad colorless. Careful experiments
aave demonstrated that water contain
Ing ptomaines, and other deadly or-1
;anic poisons, is perfectly purified by
:his process. so that it may be drunk
with impunity. It is established be
rond all doubt that cholera, typhoid
ever, and other dreaded diseases are
n most eases communicated through
irinking water and unless one is per
ecty sure of the purity of his water
pplyl', it would be well for him to
:ake the precaution by testing this
Queer story of Teeth Extraction.
A novel suit is liable to be begun at
uperior by IP. A. Tiles, father of
Retta Vilea, eleven years ol, against
the Electric Company. About four
weeks ago the girl, in running, struck
her cheek a:gainst a guy wire of one of
the poles along which the ele'trie
lighting wires are strung. The girl's
attorney says that thme guy wire had
ecme char'ged by induction, and that
te~ shock pulledl three of her' teeth.
t wo molars and a bicuspid. Her' face
was sore for several dlays, but has now
re~verd., except that the skin is some
'hat seared. There was no pazin at the
time the teeth were pulled. -Milwau
A root of eassava that measures
snfeet ini lceth andl a sweet potato
twenitv' ines ini (ccmuference- are
two prdS from the farm of'H. A.
KING COTTONS STORY TOLD
HISTORY OF THE STAPLE'S PRO
DUCTION IN THIS COUNTRY.
A Hundred Years Ago the Entire
Crop Was 20,000 Bales--Now the
Annual Product is 9,000,000.
HE Manufacturers' Record
publishes a brief history of
cotton production in this
, country, by R. H. Edmonds,
the editor. Just 100 years ago, the
total crop of the South was 20,000
bales, but by 1820 this had increased
to nearly 400,000 bales. Under this
rapid gain in production prices gradu
ally declined from forty-four cents a
pound in 1801 to thirteen and one-half
cents in 1839.
With prices ranging from thirteen
to forty-four cents, and averaging for
forty years, from 1800 to 1839, a frac
tion over seventeen cents a pound, cot
ton cultivation was so profitable that
we cannot wonder at the disposition of
the people of the South to concentrate
their efforts more and more on cotton
cultivation to the exclusion of indus
trial interests. Beginning with 1810
there came a period of extremely low
prices and the Cotton States suffered
very much from this decline. In that
year the average New York prices
dropped to nine cents, a decline of
four cents from the preceding year,
and this was followed by a continuous
decline until 1816, when the average
was 5.63 cents, the lowest average
price ever known to the cotton trade.
Even in 1891-92, when an enormous
surplus of cotton following the de
pression that succeeded the Baring
failure forced prices to what many
claimed was the lowest point on record.
the average at New York was 7.50
cents, or nearly two cents higher than
in 1816. Moreover, in 1846 the seed
was without value, while in 1891-92
the scale of seed added almost a cent
a pound to the value of the crop and
transportation was very much cheaper
than in 1846. In 1847 the crop was
short and prices advanced sharply. only
to drop back to eight and. then to
seven and one-fourth cents, making
the average for the decade, from 1840
to 1849. the lowest ever known in the
After giving in detail the statistics
of production, consumption and prices
for each year since 1840, the Mann
factirers' Rezord says:
A study of the foregoing figures will
show that seven years of successively
increasing crops, as from 3883-86 to
1891-92, was unprecedented in - the
history of trade. It is doubtful if any
leading crop raised can show such an
unbroken increase for seven years.
Jumping from 5,700,000 bales in 1884
85 to 6,500,000 bales in 1885-S6, there
was practically no halting, as the vari
ations in two years were too small to
be noticeble, to 9,035,000 bales in
1891-92, a gain of 3,300,000 bales, or
nearly sixty per cent. advance in seven
y ears. It ought not to have been ex
pected that consumption could keep
pace with such an increase. Fortunate
v there came a break, and we have now
bad two short crops. This will help to
reduce the enormous stocks that have
overweighted the market for several
years. With surplus stocks worked
off a fresh start can be made, and if
next year's crop isioderately small the
cotton trade of the world will then be
on a sound basis for higher prices, be
ause consumption will then have
In eighteen years cotton has brought
into the Souith over $5,700,000,000, a
snm so vast that the profits out of it
ought to have been enough to greatly
enrich the whole section. Unfortun
tely. the system which the poverty
following the war developed, of rais
ing cotton only and buying provisions
and grain in the West, left at home
but little surplus money out of the
cotton crop. The West and North
drained that section of several hundred
million dollars every year, because it
depended upon them for all of its
manufactured goods, as well as for the
bulk of its food-stuffs. Hence, of the
enormous amonnt received for cotton,
very little remained in the South.
The increase in diversified farming,
the raising of home supplies, the de
velopment of trucking and the build
ing of factories are all uniting to keep
at home the money which formerly
went North and West. Whether the
cotton-raiser himself be getting the
full benetit of this or not, the South
at large is necessarily doing so.
The tigures given in the foregoing
tables show that the lowest average
yield per acre for the seventeen years
under review was 145k pounds in 1881,
and the highest 209; pounds in 1891.
Hart the yield per acre in 1891 been as
low as in 1881 the crop would have
been less than 6,700,000 bales, instead
of 9,035,000 bales.
From 18#0 to 1849 the average
price in New York was eight cents per
go'und, a lower average for nine years
than any single year since has shown
The imp~ortance of cotton in our
foreign trade relations can be appre
ciated from the simple statement that
since 1875 our exports of this staple
have been valued at $3,800,000,000,
while the total exports of wheat and
flour combined for the same period
have been $ ,500,000,000, showing a
difference of S1,-300,000,000, or over
fifty per cent. in favor of cotton.
Moreover, during the same period we
have exported ab~out $200,000,000 of
manufactured cotton goods, making
the full value really $4,000,000,000.
Compared with the exports of wheat,
flour and corn combined, the value of
which since 1875 has been $3,100,000, -
000, there is a dlifference in favor of
cotton of $900,000.000. Going back
to 3820, it is found that the tot.1 value
of dour and wheat exported for the
last seventy-four years is $3,913,000-,
000. or $100,000,000 less than the
value o4 the cotton exported during
the last eighteen ycars.
The '.treeping" of Railroad Rails.
FEverv- railroader of a scientitic or
investigative turn can tell you queer
stories of how the rails "ereep," but
the greatest seientists of the world do
not attempt to explain the phenome
non. i has been known for years
that rails "do ere, hut it has only
atlv~ been learned that oni lines run
ning'north and south the west rail
" creeps" faster than the east.---St.
(ruelty unec(kedl is a child Henry
Bcrh clle xln~ruu edcaton
PROPHETIC GROUNOII0%S i
A CROSS BETWEEN A MOUSE AND
Their Habits, Home and Food and
How They Live Through the
Winter- -Qucerest of Mammals.
7HEN the legendary and
comes out of its hole and
I o o k s around for its
shadow, if he sees it, which will nattr
ally be the case if the sun shines, he
returns to his underground habitation (
for another long rest, being convinced
that winter is destined to linger in the
lap of the forthcoming spring. '
This interesting animal is equally t
well known as the "woodchuck." But I
it has a great many other names be
sides. In fact, people would seem to I
have exhausted ingenuity in devising
varied designations for the beast.
Linnaeus, the famious founder of the
modern school of natural history, en
titled it "mus inonax," which, being
interpreted, means a cross between a
mouse and a monkey. The Canadian
French speak of it as the "sitfleur," or
"whistler." This is on account of the
whistling noise which it sometimes
utters when startled. In the great t
fur-bearing region about Hudson's t
Bay it answers to the name of the t
'"thickwood badger," while to the f
westward the hardy inhabitants of V
Alaska meant woodchuck when they t
exclaim '-tarbagan," and the wild
Chippewas likewise when they grant i
The animal's habits do not vary with t
the multitude of his titles. He lives i
in a burrow remarkable for its extent. I
It is dug in the slope of a hill or by '
the side of a big stene, making an ex
cavation twenty or thirty feet long, t
which deseends obliquely four or five N
feet, then gradually rising to a large I
round chamber, where the groundhog
family sleeps and brings up its young.
The little ones are born three to eight k
at a time. When the farmer, with his
horses and mowing machine, chances f
to slump into one of these holes, dis- t
appearing from view until excavated r
by charitable neighbors, he is apt to I
feel annoved and to revile the whole i
woodchuck tribe with discrimination. i
It is largely on this account that i
bounties for killing the creatures have f
been offered in New Hampshire and s
other Statcs, as much as ten cents for I
each tail being paid. Hunters will -
not kill them, for the fur is worthless 1
and the flesh by no means palatable. r
It is not true that in certain parts of
the country farmers have found it I
necessary to shovel paths through c
groundhogs in over to reach their s
Save in the way just mentioned, the P
woodchuck does little or no harm to I
anybody. He is strictly a vegetarian, c
feeding mostly on clover and gras*s. a
Rarely does he enter the garden, pre
ferring the open meiadows and rocky a
hillsides. The first rains that fall t
copiously after haying is over cause i
the fresh green grass to spring up f
[anew. This second crop in many f
places consists largely of red clover, f
which the groundhog regards as a most t
delightful delicacy. It eats so much I
durag the latter part of August and t
the first half of the following rmonth
that it becomes exceedingly fat and t
inert. About September 30 or a little
later it goes into winter quarters, and
it does not come out again to stay un
til the middle of March.
This creature isthie most remarkable
existing example of a hibernating
mammal. It lays up no store of piro
viions as the squirrel does. Its food
is of such a nature that it doe:- not<
keep, and so the groundhog mustr
seep to save itself from starving. Itt
disappears with astonishing precision
within a few days of the autumnal I
equinox atra remains underground un-a
til about the time when the sun ents
the plane of the equator at the vernal r
equinox. Often the weather is very i
warm when it retires, and it will con~e r
out ini March when snow is on the
grud -aing long journeys to find
ground wher patches of the coveted
green grass has been laid bare by thaw.
'At the end of the winter the animal is
thin and doubtless feels rather seedy,
Ihaving lived on its own tissues and '
without subsistence for so long a time.
1Unring the term of hibernation
physical waste is reduced to a very
low point, the heart's action slacken
ing and the breathing becoming so ,
slight that it can only be detected by 1
delicate instruments. Even when
kept in a warm house through the
cold season a tame groundhog becomes
torid at the usual date and remains
so until the hereditary habit has been
carried to the customary term. In
this latitude the hibernation of' theI
animal is not so complete as farther
north, and a few hundred miles far
ther south it is interrupted by periods
of wakefulness, during which the
woodchuck goes abroad and gets its
meals. The practice of hibernating
is merely a device of nature for en
abling tihe animal to get along without
food at times when there is no food to
be had. Otherwise it wouldl perish
and the species would become extinct.
No use for the groundhog worth
mentioning has ever been discovered.
It is otherwise with another queer2
ammial -the p)orcupine. Porcupines
have been used as fuel, fct which pur
pose they are saidl to be superior to
Iwood. Some time ago e-t the Wihunot
mine in Minnesota the lporcepmes1
cane to be regarded as such a nui
sance, being very numerous, that one
day the foreman threw a couple or
(ead ones ir~to the tireplace of the
steam drill. To his surprise the steam
and up to eighty pounds in a short
time. From that time on the miners
were instructed to kill and bring ini
every porcupine they could catch for
use 'in the furnace. Sueb, at all
even ts,is the story. -Washington Star.
Incereasedh 'se of Mutton.
It is not altogether the cheapness of
mutton that is leading peop~le to usei
it more freely. They h-tve learned
that it is an eseellent anid healthfult
meat and the consumpt ion of mutton ]
in the United States is six times as
reat in 1893 as it was in Wi'S. We
ale undoubtedly killing off 'heepe faster,
than their natural increas. This
mut lead to increasing scareitye of fatt
.heep for muittonl and higher. priceLs <
o the mutton when marketed. Sheep 1
cannot be increased yery rapily at the
b st and if oiur stock become~s 'Is
pleted it takes 3ereral years io build.
it up .aain-DostCu(fltivatur,
"Diii f ,a. my belst? '-Northwautern
Forgetting is forgivin: .
A light heart lives Ion..
Marriage is love's s:t-rific:.
Don't try to pump out h !:!-t.
A good deed needs nal
A kiss is a song without words.
Covetousness hoards itself poor.
Sunshine is the leaven of living.
Love teaches us the pleasure of pain.
All true love is grounded on esten.
Friendship depends largely on funds.
Speech is a deformnity in soue peo
A woman's smil cin make a harden
Love is contagious, epidemic and
What the rosebud promises it does
You cannot play false, and yet
Help the deserving, not all those
It is wonderful how near conzeit is
Suspicion paves the road to misun
It is not the longest life that has
the most in it.
Peopleareso much alike they should
be better friends.
When two ride the same horse, one
must ride behind.
Love antl necessity ar the only
cures for laziness.
It is seldo-m that a woman thinkS so
without saying so.
We rarely find as much in a dollar
as we think there is.
Theory of Plant (rowth. 'j
The theory of plant growth, elahor
ated chiefly by American biologists.
that the motion is rhythmic and not
regularly continuous is being brought
forward to account for many phenom
ena hi-:herto deemed inexplicable. One
of the most notable of these attempts
appears in a paper in the Proceedings
of the Academy of Natural Sciences of
Philadelphia, describing the manner
in which nature produces -tfe various
forms of the Citrus tribe. It is no un
common occurrence that a small orange
is found inside of a larger one; and the
kind known as the navel orauge is one
in which a very feeble attempt to form
another orange results in giving thne
"navel" appearance to the fruit. This
is explained by stating that a branch
is arrested in its longitudinal growth
when the fruit is to be formed. and
the parts., leaves and stems becomuc
enlarged and succulent iustead of nor
mal leaves an:1 stem. An (rang- 1.
really but a transformed mass of leaves
and branches. In the double orange
the wave growth does not enirely rest
when forming the one orange, but
makes another feeble attempt to elon
gate, only to be arrested a; the tir.st
wave wai', resulting in a smaller fruit.
Sometimes the primary wave is the
feebler, in which ease it is . almost
wholly abortive, and the only"orange"
resulting is the one which would be
the interior in the double instanice, or
the "navel"' in the othe'r. This re
sats in the variety knoin as the ma~n
darin. The mandarin is the product
of the upper, anid usually very feebl.
growth wave. In the lemon the "nip
ple" is the result of a feeble att.empt
of the second growth wave to form an
other lemon on the top of the lower,
and is analogous to the "navel" in tho
variety of orange known as such. The
author of the paper believes that much
of the variety we see among plants and
flowers are referable to varying inten
sities in growth waves. -New York
Gisneng and Other Herbs.
Giseng is a low-growing herbacons
plant, with a single stem about a foot
high or less, on the top of -.hich there
are three petioles or leaf stalks, each
of these bearing five leatiets, hence
the specific name of this species, viz.,
Aralia quinquefolia. The flowers are
poduced on a short stem above the
whorl of terminal leaves, and are
small and of greenish white color, and
these are succeeded in autumn by
small clusters of bright red berries.
The roots are thick and fleshy, the
largest about the size of a man's
thumb, but tapering to a point at the
lower end. They have a spicy and
somewhat agreeable aromatic tatste.
The best time jo gather these roots is
hi the fall and winter, for at this sea
son they are fl-rm and solid, and their
locationi can be readily determinedl by
the old stalks andl withered leaves,
which remain in position uutil beaten
down by snow or rain. There is a
steady and increasing demand for the
dried roots, the price advaucing as
the supply decreases from year to
year in our forests. L'arge <puntities
are gathered.in t he mnour tai.s of North
Carolina. -New York Sun.
Related by an Argonimt. .
James Brown, of Salt Lake C'ity,
Uta, claims to have witnesse I the fir-t
discovery of gold i Catlifornia, having
been wit'h MIarshall when the glitter
ing scales wer' picke I upj int Sutter's
millrace in 18t7. He tells the story
f the find as follows:
"Aome time in Jagnuary. 18 M .. 1 was
working with Mxrshail at .Snt ter's mill.
on the Amer.ean Rive'r. Matraall and
I came upon so:ne deemye 1 granite at
the botto~n of' the millrace, where we
were at work. Marshr.ll was inter
eted in the rock. but the rest of us
didn't think anything of it. He sai 'l,
'e will shut down the gates early in
the morning.' and it was done. He
as down at the rae that morning
while the rest or us were in the cabin.
In a short time Marshall cam; upwith
his hat in his hand, saying, 'B's y:.v
got her now.'
being about the youngest and
most curious of the crowd, ran e.. hi,
and saw on the lining of his hat ten ''r
twelve pieces of seale gold. The~, lir
et piece was w orth fifty cents. J pike
i up and tested it in my teeth. and1 as
it did not give I held it up and yelled
"t that the re'st 'f th.-:n erod'
mrud I plated rzy ple 't'u't tim
a d ran to the ein: tx tu 'M4 I a "
a hot bvd of man::anitat , oiand 1 it
d &i nhru awy" I knew~ it wa g t.
W * pcked up jots ot it i thenex t wo
..o,. thre du .-netrmit F.ree- Prss
UAYE1 SE EX EN LIVYES.
IEROISX OF A FRAIL YOUNG OOL
k Devotion to Duty and a Wrecked
Life -An Ineident of a Disaster on
an Inland Lake.
HA) for my roommate in cellege
at Evanstown a frail lad, born on
the banks of the Mississippi. He
, had learned in its waters to swim
.nd dive until he seemed almost as
uch at home in the water as on land.
)ne of his first accomplishments ac
iired at Evanstown was not in Greek
r Latin, but in swimming in the lake
i time of storm. He would dive
hrough the breakers or toss upon
heir tops, or play with them as a
iant might with a tiny fonntain. He
cas a wonderful swimmer.
One day there came trickling down
brongli the village news of a great
teamship wrecked at 1 o'clock in the
norning, ten miles out in the lake,
rhose 400 passengers were struggling
rith tb'e waves or were already
Irowned. My roommate heard abugle
>last in his Eoul that morning. He
aid he seemed to hear these words:
'Who knoweth but thou art come in
o the kingdom for such a time as
his?" Two hundred others volun
eered for service, one of whom is now
, bishop in the Methodist Church,
.nd afterwards became President of
They put a rope around my room
aate's waist that they might recover
is frail body if he should be killed by
he floating pieces of wreckage. Back
rard and forward he went for six
ours, helping to save human life.
hrough his great familiarity with the
urf lie was enabled to do much more
han all the rest put together. Some
rere saved by a tug far out in the
ake, but of nearly 400 passengers
nly thirty came through the break
rs alive, and of these my roommate
He put into that one day the
truggile of three-score years and
en. He was compelled to give
p his studies. He was com
elled to give up the Christian
ainistry, for which he was preparing.
.o-day he is the wreck of a man, liv
ng among the hills of Southern Cali
ornia. far away from a railroad line,
trugling on a fruit ranch for a live
ihood. The price paid for that day's
rork was the health and strength o' a
ifetime -but he saved seventeen hi
Betv:een his journeys into the waves
e stood before a blazing fire, was
overed with blankets, and drank
trong stimulants in order to keep his
imbs from cramping. But each time
n unfortunate one came near the
reakers, if he was able to go, he threw
f his incumbrances and plunged
gainU into the water.
At first he wore the rope upon his
ra, but coming to a piece of debris
o which a drowning person was cling
g, the wreekage struck him in the
ace and he commenced to bleed pro
uselv. The crowd on shore, alarmed
or iis safety, commenced pulling in
he line pra'maturely before he ha
told of the drowning person. He
hrew off the rope, clutched the man
.nd brought himc safely ashore without
he help (of the rope.
Walkinig upm on the beach he saw a
~entlemian sitting in an elegant car
iage who had evidently come to the
ske with the coachman from his
uburban home. He said to this
entleman: "Thlese people have al
ost killed me, and another accident
aay take my life without my having
Lone my work. Will you consent to
anage my rope for me, not allowing
he ~eople to pull until I give the
ignal. If you do this you shall have
alf the credit for anything I may be
ble to do." The gentleman con
ent~ed, and for five hours managed the
ope. He was thus largely instru
ental in the successful work my
The last person saved that day was
man who 'was coming ashore in a
ificult part of the surf, where the
4nk was high and precipitous. Any
ne reaching shore there would be
ounded to death on the Eteep bank.
hose who came to this part of the
urf were absolutely lost, as it seemed
nore than a man's life was worth to
ave them. My roommate saw this
nan with one arm clinging to a piece
f wreck, while he held in the other a
mndle, supposed to contain silver
>date or some other precious thing
rrapped up in a bit of clothing.
A sudden lift of the waves brought
he man and the raft into full view,
.nd theie streamed out from the
)ndle a tress of hair eighteen inches
oug. Then my friend knew that the
nan was trying to save his wife, and
aid to those about himt: "Cost what
t may, I will save that man or die in
He ran down the beach, following
he retreating wave, knelt down as
losely as possible to the sand and let
he return wave pound him. When
iext seen he was far into the water.
He swam to the piece of raft to
vhich the two were clinging. .When
ithin six or eight feet of them the
nan cried out : "Save my wife ! Save
v wife !" The brave swimmer said:
'Yes, Il save your wife and you.
00." Fastening his hands in their
lothing at the back of their neeks. he
aid: "I can sustain' you in the water.
nt von must sw'im for your lives and
nine. We mustit push up northward
ndget beyond this daingerouis surf, if
r-e are to b~e saved at all. To the joy
>f the onlooking sp)ectators he came
afel to shore with both unfortunates,
or whom he had so braveiy imperiled
The daily papers were full of
>raises. The illustrated papers of New
ork and Loudon contained his pie
r, but when we were alone in our
oo it was pitiful to see him. His
ace would turn ashen pale and lhe
vould turn his great hungry eyes on
ue and say : ''Tell mec the truth.
Vill, evervbiy praises me. Tell me
he truth.' Did I fail to do my best ?'
1t. did not ask. "'Did I do as well as
ome one eise?" That went without
He did Dot ask: "'Did I do as well
s any man oiu God's footstool? I
bink he might. have answered that
inestion in the aflirma~tive'. The ques
ion that ran throeugh him like a poi
oed dangg r as he. reme:nheredl the
and more who lost their lives in
iht, and most of them in hearing of
andth em. slnsrme question was: