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THE LEWISTON TELLER.
GAUL A. FOREMAN, Editor and Prop LEWISTON, IDAHO. Thk wonderful material progress of j modern times is more largely built, Upon borrowed capital th in is com monly supposed. The increase of debt ■ among civilized nations has been enormous. j Four bank wreckers are now doing time at Sing Sing and behaving them selves admirably. The whole four of them couldn't raise $5 between them, and os this wouldn't be enough to fin ancier on they are content to accept the daily routine and make all the good time possible. A New Yorker has collected facts relating to over 500 dinners where there were thirteen at table, and the average of deaths among them is so low ns to lead him to declare that thirteen is an exceedingly lucky num ber and to advise everybody to ring it in whenever possible. The transatlantic steamship com panies confess to their sheer inability to suppress gambling on their ships, it being impossible to know whether fun or money is at stake. But they ought to be able to suppress professional gamblers, who cross and recross the ocean, dragging their scoop-nets both ways. _ There are no less than thirty dif ferent religious castes in India, and when the railroads were first estab lished no two castes would ride in the same coach. The natives found it inconvenient, however, and now all sorts of cast9s mix up for a journey, but offset it at the end by culling each other dogs and infidels. The faet still remains that agricul ture is the underlying Industry of the world. The farmer and the miner are the real producers of wealth. Without abundant crops the nntion has little purchasing power, and little to export with cheap and abundant breadstuffs all over the world prosperity reigns, and business is remunerative. An exchange remarks that Oliver Wtindell Holmes has taken upon him self a curious custom—that of eating dinner at noon. Curious he hanged! Dinner was meant to be eaten at the noon hour just as much as breakfast was in the morning. A six o'clock * «dinner" is just as much of a mis nomer as a two o'clock breakfast Too large a proportion of the workingmen, who have no trades, stay in cities mainly because there they find opportunities for spending their earnings as fast as received. This leaves them penniless for winter, to say nothing of providing for their families or for themselves when the time comes that they will be unable to work. The German merchant, in fixing the salury of his foreign selling agents, is governed partly by their knowledge of languages. A man who speaks three languages gets one-third more salary! than the man who can speak only two languages. American manufacturers must be up and doing, or the Germans will forestall us In many of our South American markets. The eccentricities of game preserv ing are sometimes very striking. Neither lions nor alligators would be taken at first sight to be a class of ani mals which the interests of humanity require to be preserved. Yet the gov ernment of India has recently issued an order forbidding the shooting of I lions; while the authorities of Louisi ana have recently taken measures for bidding the killing of alligators. One of the prime factors in the revi val of business in this country is the fact that Europe ho* not been so pros perous in many years as at present Seldom does peace reign in Europe for ao long a time as since the last war. In fact there have been no recent ravages of war, though the cost of keep ing men in idleness is something im mense, and handicaps all Europe in comparison with the freedom from standing armies which prevails in tho United States. Much less progress has be»q made In the improvement of country r.iai« than in any other method of transpor tation. Steam and electric cars have brought distant sections of the country near each other, but the country roads by which farmers convey their pro duct to market do not show propor tionate improvement Competition in transportation h'S greatty cheapened the cost of marketing the product« of the great West Another field for great possibilities with little work. A paradise for a lazy man without brains or ambition. A rare chance fora man who thinks the world owes him a living. Go to Samoa You can get a hundred m-res ot good land for fl.27, and the taxes on the same will be only thirty-nine cents a year. You can easily live on what grows wild on your land, so that yon can spend all your time lyiug down and thinking v.hat a soft snap you are having. This is pure animal existence. In a few yours of degen eration your dog or gout will know more and be » better citizen than jrourselt •NOWIla>ME." In th* quist nnrser.T chamber». Snowy pillow» yet Ultpree»eil, See the iiirms 01 little children Kneeling;, white-robed for their Teat. All In quiet nu leery eh amtiere, While the ilneky ehndowe creep, Henr the voice» of the children— ■ "Now I lay me down to sleep." In the meadow mid the mountain Cnlmly aliine the winter atnr», Blit urine» the trl'elening lowland» Slant the moonlight'» »ilver bars. In the eilence nnd tie* ilarkiiess. Dnrkne»» growing »till more deep. Liefen to the little children— Praying Hod their »oui» to keep. "if we die"—»o prny th* children— And the mother'* hend drop» low (On* from out her fold ie »leeping Peep beneath the winrer'» »now), "Take our »oui«;" nnd poet the comment Flit» a gleam o' crystal light. Like the trailing of hi* garments Walking evermore in white. Litt'e soule, that stand expectant, Listening at the gate» o life. Hearing, (or away, the murmur Of thé tumult and the strife: We, who fight beneath thorn banners Meeting rank» or foremen tliere, Find a deeper, broader meaning Ip yonr simple, vesper prayer. When your hand shall grasp the standard Which, to-day, you watch rom far. When your deeds shall shape the conflict' In the universal war, Prav to Him. the God of battle». Whom strong eye ran never sleep. In the warning ot temptation, Firm and true your eouls to keep. When the combat ends, nnd slowly Clears the smoke rom out the skies, When far down the purple distance, All the noise of battle dies. When the last night's solemn shadows Settle down on yon nnd me, May the love that never faileth Take our souls eternally. —Hnrt'ord Times. S) MB. BARNES' NEW WIFE. From the New York Tribune. DECLARE she's the han'somest woman 't walks into the Ransom meet'n house. Burnes must of hod his eyes open when he picked her out." It was Mr. Whiting who ex pressed this opinion. He and his wife were picking early peas in their "nigh garden," os they called the patch nearest the house. Mrs. Whiting did not reply immedi ately, but she went on with her work with stich energy that the pea-vines suffered at lier hands. When her husband repented with unction "the han'somest woman," she exclaimed: "I heard you plain 'nougli, Zenas. You're jest like the rest of the men. They all think they never seen noth in' like her. '.V she does look well, I ain't disputin' of that." "'S' her tigger!" unwisely went on Mr. Whitîng, us lie dropped a hand ful of pens into the pun. " 'n' her walk. We ain't seen no such in Ran som sence that woman from New Orleens was boardin' down to Hankses. Where'd you say he found Ripley said. She knows of her folks, was the upen jlinsiastic reply. her Ovcr bevend Bollin'hnm, Sarah j - -- .....what I JJJ® n Alter awhile Mr. Whiting brought another handful of pods, and said that, "Women was odd. He didn't see for his part, why they couldn't own up when they see a face 'n' fig ger like Barnes's new wife. 'Twouldn't hurt them none." Mrs. Whiting straightened herself up :rom the vines. She looked in tently at the current bushes and ap parently addressed her remarks to them: " 'Taint no use to try and make know anything," she said. Then glancing down nt her husband, who was sitting on his heels and very busy, she continued; "I'm thinkin' of his first wife. Poor Marshy! It's jest thirteen months 'n i n I r Ktn ; six days sence she died; | blessed release to her. I hope j > to her. I hope | irnev. If there's ! I's laws she's a- ! >• she's with her son Barney, any justice in God resting with her son ' The woman spoke with almost tearful enrnostness. She turned nnd j looked toward the tall white house 1 that stood behind its elms and lilacs 1 a short distance down the rond. "I tell you, Zenas, 'f I know any thing 'bout folks by their faces, Sntn Barnes 'll have dit'runt time with his second wife from wlmt lie did with his first. I hope he will, 'n' I shall see it. It'll do me a sight ot good to see him stan' round. Let him take his turn, I say. He's had most thirty year bein' boss." "'N' yet Barnes is a good fair V square man to deal with, 'n' reg'lnr 'memlier of the church," said Mr. Whiting. "1 know all that," responded Mrs. Whiting, "but you ain't never ben his wife," "No more ain't you," said Zenas, with his comfortable laugh. "Thank the Lord for that!" was the fervent answer. Then the two glanced at each other nnd in their eyes was something which might have led an observer to believe that, after all, marriage was not nlwuys a failure. When both were steadily and si lentlv nt work ngain there was heard a voice from the other side of the wall where the load lay. "I didn't mean to borrow so soon, Mrs. Whiting, but will you lend me a nutmeg? I want to make some dried apple pie. Mr. Barnes is fond of hot pie for supper." The man and woman in the garden stood up suddenly. Leaning on the wall in an indolent attitude was n tad woman whose figure hinted somewhat- at redun dance, but whose corset confined her waist so that, as yet, the hint was not too pronounced. Thednrk, thin gown was very plain, but it fitted with n perfection never seen in Ran som, except perhaps in the ease of that "lady from New Orleens." The people in this town were not in the habit of seeing a woman's shoulders and hips accentuated in that way, and to the feminine rural mind there almost seemed something immodest in « gown like that. "It was bo difrunt, you know." But they couldn't help udmiringthe effect, and envying. Mrs. Whiting recovered her powers of speech so that she conld bid the other "come right in," for she lind plenty of nutmegs, and she knew dried apples pies whs mighty flat things without a good deal of spice. Mrs. Barnes went round to the back gate nnd sauntered down the path. She st opped and spoke to Mr. Whiting, and smiled at him. She was one of those whose voice and glance keep their special Bweetness for men. Without having a distinct ly formulated belie f , shea ways acted on the supposition that men might be "worth while," but that women never were. Her eyes were large and dark, and they were both hard and voluptuous. Her mouth was thin and pale-lipped, but it was very ex pressive. Mr. Whiting, replying to her word and smile, watched her ns she disap peared in the house. He wished to follow her, but he kept on with his work. He told himself that Sam Barnes was a thunderin' lucky man, and he wondered if that was the kind of women they had out beyond Bel lin'ham. A few days later Sarah Ripley an nounced that not only had the "new Miss Bornes" been married before, but that she had been married twice before. Her first husband had died and was buried. The history of her second husband was not, however, so straightforward. He had neglect ed to die and be buried, and was roaming at large in the world. He had run away from her. It was said that lie had declared before disappear ing that "if Charlotte wan't the devil she was jest as good as the devil." This was strong languuge, and no bonder the man had not returned alter having mnde use of it. Sarah Ripley paid a visit to that remote town whence Mr. Barnes had brought his wile, and when Sarah re turned she was much sought after by the whole feminine neighborhood. She was not reticent in regard to the information she had gleaned. She said that Mr. Pickett, the second husband, had been heard of "out west, somewhere;" that Mr. Barnes had spent a pile of money in getting a divorce from him for Charlotte, so that he,Barnes, could wed Charlotte, for he was regularly bewitched with her. "There had never been no man so bewitched before." Sarah said confidently to each person to whom she related the tale. "Folks did say lie was jest like aman run crazy." He hod been heard to declare by three difrunt people that he'd spend every cent he'd got but that Charlotte should have that bill and be free to njarry. 'N' Picketed ben j J"* a ° /ore he got 1^ there is bout her, but some women lie so." wife no He tall to "a the a in at Thus Miss Sarah Ripley, concern , ing whom no man, in all her forty ! years of life, had ever "run crazy." i For two or three months Mr. Barnes went round like a man in a state of beatitude. He even sold his pigs for less than the market price, having for the first time in his life neglected to inform himself what the goin price" really was. AVorsethan j that, when informed that the trader , had taken advantage of liis igno- ! J ranee, he had smiled happily and had , replied thut "he guessed it didn't make no odds." Several neighbors were sharp enough to improve this lapse nnd get a lew "good barguins ! out of Sam Karnes." j ; There were changes in the house, ' | too; it was painted nnd papered and j refurnished. It was opened also. The the horse hair chairs, and with its ; open doors and blinds. Mrs. Barnes ! said she didn't like to do | refurnished. It was opened also. The ! sacred "south parlor," wasusightto . ! see with its plush chairs in place of th» hnra» hflisshiiin nnd with im j said she didn't like to do 1 housework, and they had a hired 1 girl who kept the neighborhood in a formed ns to the progress of Sam's infatuation. There were visitors, too, and brisk talk and laughter were heard from among those clumps of lilac. Mrs. Whiting watched all these proceedings with unfailing intensity of interest. She said she wanted to see them folks over there git to the end of the rope. They'd git to it, nnd she thought it would be sooner rather than later. When Sam Barnes cot over his blindness he'd jest pnt his foot down agin' 'n folks would stop gigglin' there." In the course of the summer it was rumored that Mr. Barnes hud "moggidged his house." On the very same day, at a Baptist picnic, there ran u whisper all through the com pany that "Mis' Barnes went to bed every night with her face tied up in a raw beefsteak." "Porterhouse?" questioned the minister when this news was told him. But whether the steak > were porterhouse or plebian "round" was never really ascertained, owing to the remissness ot the hired cirl. In those days Mrs. Whiting re turned, after some flunctuations, so the lielief that, after all Mrs. Bnrnes would be too much for her husband and he would never ' resume his wav again. Sain, was growing thin and he had lost his beauifled expression. When he went to meet'n' with his wife it was generally noticed that he no longer sat so close to her in the pew, and he did not look at her so often; hut her Binile seemed just as sweet, and she vas often bestowing that smile upon her husband. "I guess things is kinder settlin down over to Barnes's," said Mr. Whiting, "but he'll never be the same man agin. Whose buggy's that?" He stepped out from the back door that he might see more plainly a dashing black horse and glittering buggy which were stopping at his gate. Mrs Whiting ran to the front entry nnd peeped out. She saw a man alight from the buggy and care fully hitch the horse to the post. He was smoking a very long, thick cigar. He had on yellow gloves, with broad, black stitching on tjhe backs; also a tall silk hat. so glossy that it Beemed to radiate black light: also dove col ored trousers and a white waistcoat; across the latter was draped a good deal of chain which held slides and dangling things called charms. He was fat; he had a long mustache and "a goatee" so visibly dyed as to ap pear to be ready to soil anything with which his face should come in contact. He walked up the path to the front door and knocked. Mrs. Whiting had been peeping through the side-lights, nnd she now opened the door with unexpected prompt ness, so that she received a whiff of tobacco smoke directly in her face and was seized with n fit of coughing. The stranger threw his cigar away and took off his hat with a large flourish, which revealed a bald head. By this time Mr. Whiting had made his way round to the Iront of the house and was standing close to the stepstone, filled with curiosity, but determined not to speak first. "My name is Pickett, Leander Fickett," said the man, as it he were conferring a favor. Mr. Whiting nodded, and Mrs. Whitting tried desperately to stop coughing that she might hear the better. "I was told," went on thestranger in a way perfectly in keeping with his trousers and his chains und his gloves, "that Mr. Samuel Barnes re sided here. Be you him?" looking at Mr. Whiting, who said slowly: "No, I ain't him; 'n' he don't reside here." "From that minute," said Mrs. Whiting, in reluting the incident afterward' "from tbntmlnute I knew something was up 'bout that worn an. That woman meant Mr. Barnes' second wife. "Can you tell me where Mr. Barnes does reside?" was the next question. "I can," was the answer. But be fore giving the information Zenas thought he would ask a question: "Who be you?" "I told you, Leander Pickett." The t'wo who heard him say this were trying in vain to recall when they hud before heard that name. "Yes. but who be you?" retorted Mr. Whiting. "I urn," said Mr. Fickett, in his large way, "I am Mr. Sumuei Barues' wife's husband." Mr. Whiting whistled. He looked nt his helpmeet, who actually gasped ns she returned his glance. "Can t ye come in?" she inquired in a voice which curiosity made cor dial. Now Lcnnder Pickett was a man who would rather talk about himself it , , . . , TT , than to do anything elseHe knew he was worLi talking about. Mr. talking His visit to the residence of Barnes could wait. He accepted the invitation and was soon sitting on the best hair cloth choir in the Whiting parlor. The chair creaked but it bore up. first thing Mr. l-ickett told his companions was that lie was worth J nore thuna million dollars, and that >" two years more he should be worth double thotsuin ullout ofthe Ueud '"S mine. He had come back his w, ' e - "He guessed them divorce papers didn't amount to much. He guessed h® ' n ' Barnes could arrange it. Cbarlotto always did like to handle ««^hankered some of ; *J> a ® money. Me aian t reckon ! ^ rn . UC !!„ i,_ heavy....... " ~ money. Me o naa some trou . 1 harlotte, but lie kind of h jP IV ® * ier tae y, an that money. He didn t sidered that lie could make it all straight with Mr. Barnes. Folks wan't so partickier'bout such things out where he'd ben. He was willin' to do the fair thing; but he guessed he'd tuke Charlotte hack with him; he guessed she'd go." He was right in his surmises. Char lotte did go. On this particular day Mr. Bnrnes was absent until nightfall. When he returned tliere was only the hired girl in the house. She told him that "Mis' Barnes 'd gone off to ride with a gentleman, *ti didn't say when she should come back." Sho did not come back. The next day Mr. Barnes received alettersign ed "Charlotte Fickett." The letter explained that she, the writer, had always felt compunctions about marrying onother man while her husband was still living, nndthather love for Mr. Barnes had overruled lier conscience. Now, however, her conscience had liecome too much for her and she could so against it do longer. She obeyed the voice of du ty, and, nt the same time, the voice of Leander Fickett. Mr. Barnes turned oflf his hired girl. He lives alone and does his own housework as well ns his larmwork. He looks seventy. People say he "ain't so sharp in a bargain 's he used to be," nnd naturallv they think he has "soft'nia of the brain " Mrs. Whiting asserts that if it ' '(.was "soft'nin' of the heart she should have some hepes ol bim." J AFTER FORTY. After forty, loek* grow thinner, We gTow stouter—"there'» the rub!" Linger longer o'er our dinner, Shirk the matutinal tub. After forty we get laiy, To the lade the girl» resign— They may flirt with Dot nnd Dniiy While we loiter o'er our wine! Alter forty, we discover Aches arid pains distinctly new; Once a lobster salad lover. Now we court the homely stew! After forty, fidgets find us. Sad to t«ll, an easy prey; Leaving lightsomenees behind us, We grow graver day by day! After forty, we're approaching Fogydom—so Ethel thinks; And we growl at aught encroaching On our precious "forty winke," O'er a »tile wr climb with caution We, onre ngile as a roe; For h'e'e autumn is our portion, And its spring went long ago! After forty, graybearde claim u« Quite as "one of them," ah, me! Men o' sixty Ihn» defame n» — We are only "forty-three." Old "Jim Crow,' 1 too, scrawls with pleasure, After forty, on our phi*; Time, who pick» our locks at leisure. Wink* at wigs—the horrid quiz! What's the moral of the matter? This, and lay it well to heart: After orty, erase light rhatter, Act no more the stripling's parti Let us take with resignation In old fogies' ranks a place; 'Ti» an art worth cultivation. That of "growing old" with grace! — F. B. Doveton. THE MYSTERY OF THE INN. It was in July, and the night was dark and stormy, with livid flashes cl lightning and peals of thunder that mnde theeartli tremble. t . ! I had ridden all day long, and it ! was with a thnnkful feeling nt last ' that I alighted from my jaded horse ! and entered the welcome inn at H—. Not a soul was in sigiit; a lamp was burning on a little table in the hall, but ait the rooms weredarkand silent, save when the thunder made the windows rattle, and the wind ; I sang a wild song nround the gables or the lightning made a fiery track as it flashed through space. You could scarcely call H— a town; it did not boast two hundred inhab itants, and these retired nt nightfal 1 and left the streets to the darkness. But I had never found the inn de serted at this hour, and I was at a loss to account for it. "Hello!" I shouted, with qll my might, stamping vigorously on the oaken floor and knocking on the ; table with the butt of mv whip. "Is this a graveyard?" But there was no answer. I went from room to room, knock ing on all the doors. They were locked and there was no response. Then, greatly wondering, I walked to the front again, where mv horse Btood, still panting from his long journey. I saw a man and woman walking hurriedly toward the inn. The man carried a lantern in one hand and a musket in the other. Is this the fellow?" he asked, bringing the light to bear on me, and lowering bis rifle from his shoul der. God bless us!" exclaimed the wom an, whom I recognized ns Mistress Pljm, the keeper of the inn. "If if ain't Captain—. No," she said, ad dressing the man; "this is not him— he's inside." As they entered I said: "There is no one here, 1 assure you. I have been knocking on the doors and call ing for nenrly half an hour. There was not a soul in the house when I arrived." Oil, but there is," said the land lady. "He went in the room and locked himself in. He's j ; he he " it room anu . . n man to me, and he acts stranger than he looks. He said he was go ng | to die at twelve o clock. I want no , dead men in my house. I was interested; but 1 sawtneman | with the lantern, who was the town watchman, looked frightened. "What room is he in?" I asked. "The one at the end of the pas sage," said the woman, in a low voice. "Do see if you can make him open the door." Followed by the watchmau, I pro ceeded to the room and knocked loudly on the door. There was no response. i 1 ! j i I j ! "The house is on fire!" I shouted, j "Open the door, if you would save yoursell!" No answer. "Get an axe," I said to the watch man, "and we will break the door down." "Yes," said Mistress Flym, break it if you will. I'll have no dead man in m.v house!" "Will you open the door?" I shout ed again. But there was no sound within. Crash! and the lock was shivered— the door flew back with a bnng. At a little table in the middle of the room, his hend bowed in his hands, sat a man. He raised hit head wear ily as we entered; his face was os pale as death, hiB eyes had a wild nnd hunted look. . "Why should you break in on me in this fashion?" he Baid. "Have T not paid my reckoning? What do you want with me?" "I want you to leave the house," ' said the landlady, flinging some sil ver on the table. "There's the mon ey you paid me; I'll have no dead men in hero!" Leave the room," I whispered Mistress Plym; "I'll remain here with J him and see what the trouble is." t -, ... - ,. ! such a night; a year alte ! mother's spirit passed o She withdrew with the watchman I closed the door after them un»! sat down on the bed. as theroom did not afford another chair. "Is there anything I can do fr r you?" I asked the man, whose pule sad face excited my sympathy. ' "Nothing," he replied, "unless you will leave me alone. I came here to die." "But you don't look like a dying man," 1 said. "If you will confide in me, perhnps I can help you." 1 could see that he was sufferin'» from some great mental trouble. " "If you'll make the door fast," lie said, looking nervously toward it, T will tell you all." There was a large box in the room. I dragged it to the door nnd placed it against it. "Go on with your story," I said, seating myself on the bed again," the door is ns fast as 1 can make it; we broke the lock just now." "I have had a premonition of death," he said, "for two months past, and I know that this will be my last night on earth. At twelve o'clock I shall be a corpse!" I decided thnt the man was crazy, but I thought I would humor him uwhile. "How do you know that," I asked; "what makes you think so?" "I cannot tell," he answered, "but I know that this will- be my last night on earth." "It is a stormy one," I said, smil ing in spite of myself. "Too bad a night for a man to die and go out in to the unknown dark." "Yet men have died on just sm-li nights," he said, "died in the dark alone. save lor the spirits that min istered unto them and closed their rayless eyes. My father died on just rwnrds my out into the ' dark and storm. They foretold their ! deaths, just ns I have done. I ou ; can remain with me if you will, and I see the prophesy verified." He then ceased speaking, nnd knelt on the floor with bowed bond and folded hands. For nearly an hour he remained in that position, his lips moving in prayer. I inclined full length on the bed an< l watched him curiously. T lien my lids drooped dreamily, his form became confused before my eyes: he faded into shape, and I—was fast asleep. I must have slept ac least two hours, when I was awukened by a loud noise. A large black-bird attracted by the light, perhaps, hud dashed itself against the window pane and shiv ered it into fragments. The poor thing fell bleeding nnd dead in the room. I leaped from my lied as a savage gust of wind extinguished the ; light. I saw the figure at the table still; a face as white as death was j turned toward me, and then a hand ; was raised—a finger pointed at the clock—nnd then— Then a man's head drooped on his breast, and a slow moan escaped his lips. "Help!" I shouted, as I struck a light. But the man was far beyond the reach of help. He was dead. The humlB of the clock were on the stroke of midnight. # * • I roused the snoring watchman iu the hall, Mrs. Plym came screaming from the room; but her screams were louder when 1 ushered her into tho presence of the dead. Mystery ot mysteries! but life is full of many such. The shadow which walks by our side Î3 not always our own, and God sends his storms to make calm in our lives, nnd reveals to little children the mysteries he withholds from wise men. She's Had Enough of Canada. F rum the New York Tribune. Says nn American lady: "While in Canada, recently, 1 went into a cundy store to make n purchase, and, ns 1 had always done at home, snm on . ^ gome 0 f t * ne varieties piled the counter. And wlmt do you think j f OUIU }7 Cayenne pepper! At first j HU pp 0 ged it was some candy made j op April-fool's duv, but when I sam pled t wo other pileB which looked : ________ , «i, air tempting, and from which, had they F leased me, I should hnve purchased, found that cayenne pepper was in i each piece. 'In order tostopeustom 1 era eating candy they don't pay for,'. ! said my companion. I tell you I j was mad; and when I thought of the i way in this country, where one is I asked to sampleeverythingunknown j before buying, I told the clerk I ! didn't want the caramels. I under stand someone is trying to annex Can j Wril, my uncle is a United States senator, and I shall tell him that unless he pre vents such a thing I shall go to Eu rope nnd marry a French prince. I understand that they are cheap tew. " Before We Turn to Dust. How long will a human body »• main in the earth before it decays un til it cannot be distinguished from tho surrounding clays is a question as yet undecided by scientists. Moj® depends upon the character of the sou nnd the different elements which it is composed. In countries abounding in limestone, or, again, in regions thoroughly saturated with al» kaline waters, human flesh will retain a natural color and firmness for an indefinite period of time. The bogs of Ireland have yielded up bodies fresh and natural as lile that had been buried in their slimy depths for centuries. It is said to be nn histori cal fact that the bodies of three Rom-J an soldier* were found « a P« a t bog on the Emerald Isle, in theyeai■ A D fresh nnd lifs-Hke, although! they had been buried almost .Utst* centuries.