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VOL. 51. WHOLE N° 1827.
f&iscjellancotts. w!~wish^ -TO— INTRODUCE OUR PATRONS —TO OUR— ANNFI 32,N GAYST iII" 11 JJ A BALTIMORE, Md., # WHICII IS COMPLETE WITH A JL Stock of Seasonable nF Goods, Including: a large assortment of GOLF CAPES, in the latest up-to-date styles, ranging in price from $2.50 to SIO.OO LADIES’ LARGE BRIGHT PLAID made latest style saddle back, from $1.25 to fo.oo LADIES BLACK SATIN AND BLACK SILK SKI RTS, a special to our regular customers. A SIO.OO Skirt for *6.98 HEADQUARTERS IN OLD TOWN —FOR— BLANKETS —AND— COMFORTS. A first-class extra large size Comfort, satine cov ered, pure white cotton, a regular $1.50 value, for -STc. Also. Cut Comforts for only • • •••25c. And Silk Comforts only $4.00 and $5.00 Pure all-wool red, grey and white blankets, $4.50 Special Ik Blanket, white and grey only VBc. WML 47KLUG, 319 N. GAY STREET, Bet. High and Front Sts., OLD TOWN, BALTIMORE, Md. MULLER BROS. -MANUFACTURERS OK— HESS_& TRIES -HEADQUARTERS FOR- Horse Blankets and Robes, TRAVELING BAG AND SUIT. CASES. Hand Sewed Buggy Harness, Nickel <P | 0 flfl or Imt. Rubber Trimmed 4>iZ.UU Hand-Made Hair Collars 2.00 Collar Pads, all Sizes 25g Square Horse Blankets 75c | Large Size Horse Blankets, Fancy Pat- IQ fl terns I .OU 5-A All-Wool Horse Blankets, Fancy <) Cfl 1 Patterns...; Z.3U * nn Secni-M Harness ai Bicycles IN STOCK. 419 East Baltimore Street, Near Gay Street, BALTIMORE. Md. Dec.2.’99y. £. U. Hipsley & Co., COFFEES & TEAS, STAPLE AND PANOY GROCERIES, WHOLESALE AND RETAIL, Gay and Colvin Streets, OLD TOWN, BALTIMORE, Md. tarvAU orders carefullypacked and delivered to any railroad station FREE OF CHARGE. Jan. 6.—12 m. IMllilSlilllll OF BALTIMORE COUNTY. JOHN I. YELLOTT, A. A. PIPER, President. Secretary and Treasurer. Rooms 2 dfc 4 Piper Building, TOWSON, Md. Directors—John I. Yellow, A. A. Piper, Elmer J. Cook, Osborne I. Yellott, JonN J. Timanus. MfIUCV TR I ntM On Mortgage of Real or mUntl IU LUAW Poreonal Property The Companj- is also engaged in the business of FIRE INSURANCE Issuing the policies of well-known and reliable Companies in any amount. tSSTA share of the patronage of the public is solicited. Jan. 6.—12 m. BOLGIANO'S BESTsEEDS GROW! If you want to make money plant BOLGIA NO’S GARDEN SEEDS that have been saved with great care. For eighty-two years we have placed in the gardeners’ hands seed that has proven true and reliable, causing many of them to amass large fortunes and make their homes all that could be desired. Reliable seeds a farmer must have to obtain these results, and reliable seeds he can obtain at Bolgiano’s. The crop of Peas and Beans has been a short one, but see Bol aia.no before you buy. He is the teedman that tharet his profits with the farmers by giving them low prices with reliable teedt. Remember , before placing your Spring order that Bolgiano't best teedt grow. and you can’t have a thoroughly successful year (financially) without planting them. Others have tried and failed ; don’t you run the risk. A stitch in time saves nine,and to save many hours of bard labor and toil that would otherwise go to utter waste and you receive no return for your honest effort to make a livelihood. J. BOLGIANO A SON, 28 S. Calvert Street, Baltimore, Md. Dec.9tJunel7. ❖❖❖❖❖❖❖❖ Y IT WILL PAY YOU TO | TALK WITH GERNAND f Eure you insure your life. ❖ Nearly 25 Years Life X Insurance Experience. X N. Calvert St., Baltimore. )NG-DISTANCE TELEPHONE. X SEASONABLE DRESS GOODS & MILLINERY, COMFORTS AND BLANKETS, ALL KINDS UNDERWEAR, R. & G. Corsets and Brainerd & Armstrong Silks. THE MISSES MAYER & LOOSE, TOWSON, Md. Jan.6tFeb.4. CONFESSIONS OF LITTLE WILLIE. Pa says they ain’t no spooks at all, ’n I s’pose he ought to know, ’Cause be knows nearly everything worth knowin’ here below ; He says ’at only fraidy calfs believes they s ghosts around. For people can’t git back on earth when you put ’em under ground. I don’t believe In spirits when the sun is shinin’ bright , . And I can bear folks talk or they’s a livin’ thing In sight. If they is jist a cat or dog around me I m pre pared Fer anythin’ ’at comes along, and ain’t a bit a-sacred. But sometimes I come home from school when ma’s away, and then I go a-sneakin’ up the stairs, and then sneak down again. And think I’ll find the doughnuts or the raisins or the jam- And then I hear somebody step—or a door shuts with a slam. I know as well as I’m alive they ain’t no body there, But shivers creep along my back, and I can feel my hair Raise right straight up and stand as stiff as bristles on my head— AnA ¥ holler. In o-hnata In .pita nf nil M ever I dassent turn around and look, for I'm afraid I’ll see ~ Some big, white thing without no head a-standin’ back of me- Bu t after while I whistle or else I sing, and then Go out and run around the yard and git braced up again. And when its dark at night, and I wake up and ] a y ]q I can’t keep ugiy thoughts of ghosts from gittin’ in my head. And then I hear pa snorin’, and my blood gits froze, almost. For every snore sounds like the groan of some poor sinner’s ghost. Pa says there ain’t no ghosts, and I talk big, sometimes, and laugh At Eddie Gray ’cause he believes, and call him fraidy calf. But when I do bad things and then am all alone, by jinks, I know they’s ghosts a-snoopin’ round, in spite of what pa thinks ! PASSING OF THE BISON. One of the most extraordinary events that has characterized the last half of the present century is the ex termination, the wiping out, of the American bison. There is little use in resorting to invective or endeavor ing to stigmatize those who are guilty of this crime, but it would be well if the acts could be held up in a bright light, that those who committed them might be excoriated in the time to come, when a few bones and pictures will alone tell the story of a mighty race swept from the face of the earth by the civilized people of the nine teenth century. “In 1870, and later,” said an army officer to the writer, ‘ ‘the plains were alive with bison, and in crossing at places I had difficulty in avoiding them, so vast were the herds. If any one had told me then that in twenty or thirty years they would have be come almost entirely extinct, I should have regarded the statement as that of an insane person.” That so many of these animals could have been killed in mere wantonness seems incredible when their vast num bers are realized. We first hear of Ite £ttmL£&£guod Ms follow a zoological garden, the specimen, in all probability, having been caught in Coahuila. In 1530 Cabeza saw them in Texas ; and 1542 Coronado found a herd in what is now the Indian Ter ritory ; one of his officers described them as horrible beasts that demor alized the horses. In 1612 Sir Sam uel Argoll observed herds of bison near the national capitol, and, in all probability, 287 years ago herds of bison grazed on the site of the Capi tol building at Washington. In 1678 Father Hennepin observed them in what is now Northern Illinois, and in October, 1729, Col. W. Bird saw herds in North Carolina and Virginia. These and other facts have provi ded data by which the early geograph ical distribution of the bison has been determined, and it is known that this grand animal, that is to-day repre sented by a few individuals, formerly ranged in millions from the Atlantic seaboard to the Gulf of Mexico, from Texas to the Great Slave Lake, and as far west as Central Nevada. As to their numbers, they were like the sands of the seashore, and the ac counts given by those who hunted them twenty or thirty years ago to day seem like vagaries of a disorder ed imagination. Mr. Hornaday, who has hunted in South and Central Africa, where game is remakably plentiful, states that the bison of this country previous to 1870 exceeded, in all probability, all the African game of every kind. An army officer in service on the plains in 1867 stated to the writer that on one occasion he was surrounded by buffaloes, and that from the top of a small hill he could see nothing but a black mass of their bodies. It was impossible to estimate their numbers, and the party were in great fear lest they should be caught in a stampede, the rush being irresis tible. Col. Dodge, in his memoirs, states that on one occasion he rode twenty-five miles in Arkansas, always being in a herd of buffaloes, or many small herds, with but a small sepa rating strip between them. The an imals paid but lit!leattention to him, merely moving slowly out of the way or advancing, bringing the whole herd of thousands down on him with the roar of an avalanche. This he met by standing fast and firing when they came within short range, the shot causing them so divide. In one day Col. Dodge killed twenty-six bison from his wagon; not in sport, but as a protection. Otherwise they would have run him down and crush ed man, horses and wagon. This herd observed by Col. Dodge was later found to be fifty miles wide and to occupy five days in passing a given point on its way north. From a high rock, from which points ten miles distant could be seeu in every direction, the earth seemed to becov ered with bison. To make a accur ate estimate of the numbers seen woud be impossible, but Mr. Horua day, by a conservative calculation es timates that Col. Dodge must have seen four hundred and eighty thous and, and that the herd comprised half a million buffaloes. A train on the Kansas Pacific road in that State in 1868 passed between the towns of Elsworth and Sheridan —120 miles — through a continous herd of buffaloes. They were packed so that the earth was black, and more than once the train was stopped, the surging masses becoming a menace to human safety. “You cannot believe the facts as they existed in the days of iß7i-’72,” said an army officer. “I was at that time on duty in the pay department, which made it necessary for me to travel on the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe railroad. One day the train entered a large herd, which scattered and seemed to go wild at the shriek ing of the whistle and the ringing of the bell. As we went on the thicker they became, until the very earth ap peared to be a rolling mass of humps so far as we could see. Suddenly some of the animals nearest us turned and charged; others fell in behind, and down on us they came like an avalanche. The engineer stopped the engine, let off steam and whistled to stop them, while we fired from the platforms and windows with rifles and revolvers. Vmt it was like trying* to stay a tidal wave. We stood in the centre of the car to await the crash, some of the men going to the rear. On they came, the earth trembling, and plunged heads down into us. Some were wedged in between the cars, others beneath ; and so great was the crush that they toppled three cars over and actually scrambled over them, one buffalo becoming bogged by having his legs caught in the win dow. Such accidents occurred sev eral times, and twice in one week were trains derailed by charging buf faloes, whoes numbers it was impossi ble to compute. Hunters have heard the roaring of buffaloes at a distance of from three to five miles, and that the earth trem bled when they charged we can well imagine when the large bulls are known to weigh 2000 pounds,the cows 1,200 pounds. The question of inter est to-day is, how was it possible to destroy so many animals in so short a time and what methods were em ployed ? The natural fatalities were few compared to the enormous num bers. The cow bison displays little affection for her young, and many calves were lost every year ; but, all in all, the conditions were extremely favorable to them, and their increase was enormous. Many were destroy ed by stampeding over precipices. In 1867, 2,000 buffaloes, or half a herd, became entangled in the quick sands of the Platte river. At another time a herd was lost by breaking through the ice of Lac Qui Parle, in Minnesota, The cold winters some times killed many that remained in the far North ; but these dangers were as nothing compared to man. Man soon found that the buffaloes had a value. The Indians slaughter ed them by the thousand for their skins, bone and for food ; they killed 100 oftentimes to secure five, and doubtless the Indian inroads upofi them had little effect, so far as exter mination is concern. But with the white man it was different. Some wished to make records, and killed for sport; some became professional buf falo butchers, to provide the gangs of railroad men with meat, slaughtering a magnificient animal for its tongue alone. It has been estimated that previous to 1870 nearly three-quarters of a million buffaloes could have been killed yearly and the herd kept in tact ; how many were killed and wast ed will never be known. Each ani mal, however, had a value at this time estimated by Hornaday at $5 ; the robe 82.50; the tongue 25 cents ; hindquarter meat 82 ; bones, horn and hoofs, 25 cents ; and this was suf ficient to attract an army of destroy ers. The hides were the greatest feature, and one firm in New York between 1876 and 1884 paid the kill ers nearly 81,000,000, or, to be ex act $923,070, for the robes and hides, which represents the final extinction of the animal. The Government nev er interfered, owing to protests of in terested legislators and the neglect of higher officials. Another firm paid 8216,000 for robes and skins, and there were scores of private traders in the field. The word went out to kill everything in sight, and from 1876 there was a price on the head of every buffalo. It is a dark and disagreeable subject to probe, but it is interesting to note some of the methods of these national calamity makers. A band of half breeds in two hunts, according to Ross, killed 47,770 buffaloes, 260 men being engaged in the sport, out of which about 30,000 animals were wasted or partly eaten. Hornaday estimates that from 1820 to 1825 five buffalo expeditious went out, com posed of 610 carts each, killing 118,- 950 buffaloes. From 1825 to 1830, five expeditions of 750 carts each, kill ed 146,260 buffaloes. From 1835 to 1875 six expeditions, of 895 carts, killed 174,528 animals. From 1835 to 1840 fifty-four expeditions of 1,090 carts each, killed 212,550 buffaloes. Total number killed by the Red river half-breeds alone in twenty years, 652,275,va1ued at 83,961,375. An in teresting table has been furnished the Government by the firm previously mentioned, J. & I. Boskowitz, show ing the decline 6f the buffalo as an article of commerce. It shows that in nine years this firm handled 146,- 175 skins, costing 8924,790. In 178 they received 41,268 robes ; in 1883, 5,000; in 1884 none. The end had come, and the buffalo was a memory. Another dealer, Joseph Ullman, states that in 1881 he handled 41,000 robes, valued at 83.50, and 12,000 at $7.50. In 1882 he purchased 40,000 hides at 83.50 and 10,000 robes at 88.50. The prices hunters received were : Cow hides, $3 ; bull hides, 82. 50 ; yearlings, $1.50; calves, 50 cents. The expenseof transportation brought the hide up to 83.50 in New York. This dealer in four years paid but 8310,000 to these men, who killed buffaloes by the tens of thousands for 82.50 a head. Both of the above mentioned dealers in eight years paid out 81,233,070 to the exterminators. That the real extermination of the buffalo was caused by the demands of trade there can be no doubt, aided and abetted by sportsmen, Indians,and others; but the blame really lies with TOWSON, MD., SATURDAY, JANUARY 13, 1900. the Government that in all these years permitted a few ignorant Congress men to block the legislation in favor of the protection of the bison, so that all the efforts of humanitarians were defeated and the bills when passed pigeon-holed. There were many methods of ex termination that are graphically illus trated by paintings and models in the Smithsonian Institution. The still hunter was the most insidious enemy of the buffalo and a single man by sneaking upon a herd has been known to kill 1,000 in a single season. One Capt. Jack Bridges, of Kansas, has the honorable (?) record of having killed 1,142 buffaloes in six weeks. He took the contract to that effect and bagged his game. Up to there were undoubtedly several ml lion of buffaloes alive but- tbe lust blood was on, and soon came the de mand for robes and hides from the dealers, and men who could not make a living at anything else went out to kill buffaloes. In the different States there were regular killing outfits that cost, in rifles, horses, cars, etc., from 82,000 to 85,000. Such methods de veloped some famous characters, Buf falo Bill was one. He contracted with the Kansas Pacific railroad to furnish them with all the buffalo the men could eat as the road was built; and, according to Mr. Cody’s statement, they ate 4,280 buffaloes in eighteen mouths, for which he received SSOO per month, the price he paid for his title. Many buffaloes were killed by run ning them down ; this was the popu lar method among the Indians, who shot them with rifle or bow and ar row, or chased them over precipices. The great herds north of the Missouri were mostly exterminated by the In dians of the Manitoba Red River set tlement, who hunted them in a regu lar army. One division of such an army of exterminators consisted of 603 carts, 700 half-breeds, 200 In dians, 600 horses, 200 oxen, and 400 dogs. The movements against the buffaloes in Nebraska were often made by 3,000 people, and as each man killed at least ten 30,000 buffa loes bit the dust. In this way Indians as above killed, it is estimated, 652,- 000 buffaloes. The completion of the western rail roads divided the buffaloes into two herds, uothern and southern. In 1871 the southern herd was composed of an estimated 3,000,000, and from now on the animals dropped away so rapidly that it was estimated that 3,000 or 4,000 a day were killed. It became evident that they were doomed and appeals were made to the Government by hundreds. From 1872 to 1874 there were 1,780,461 buffaloes killed an 4 white peopld and the "skins east over the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe road. During the same time the Indians killed 390,000; be sides these settlers and mounted In dians killed 150,000, so that the grand sum total for these years was 3,698,- 780. In the following year, 1875, the deed was done. The southern herd had been swept from the face of the earth ; the northern herd went in the same way. In 1882 it was be lieved there were 1,000,000 buffaloes alive in the herd, but there were at least 5,000 white hunters at every point. Such a merciless war of ex termination was never before witness ed in a civilized land. Then came 1883; thousands took the field this year and Sitting Bull and some whites had the honor of killing the last ten thousand. There were living at the last Gov ernment census, made eight years ago, 256 pure-blooded buffaloes in captiv ity, the last of the untold millions that covered this continent during the past century.— Scientific American. UNREASONABLE. “Yes, we’re at swords’ points,” admitted a suburbanite, while dis cussing a neighbor. “Fault on both sides, I presume?” “No, sir, not a bit of it. I’ve been unfortunate, that’s all, and he won’t listen to explanations.” “Shot his dog, didn’t you ?” “Yes, I did, but it was this way. I heard the whole street in shrieks aud rushed to the window. Boys were climbing trees, mothers hustled their babies inside aud locked their doors, and down the center of the street came that dog like all possess ed. Of course I thought he was mad. So would anybody, and I shot him. “Come to find out, he’d been root ing into a bumblebees’ nest. I’m no expert on mad dogs and told my neighbor so, but he stormed around as though he had bees in his owu hair, and I just dropped him. “What made him madder was that I hit him in the head with an old coal scuttle. I can’t see through a tight board fence, can I? I didn’t know he was suooking through the alley when I threw the thing away. He was so mad that I didn’t recognize his voice. I told him we didn’t allow such talk and had him kicked across part of a subdivision before I discover ed who he was. Then I apologized, but there’s no reason in him.” — De troit Ftec Pi css. Stranger —“ Doctor, I ache all over. ’ ’ Doctor —“Malaria, probably.” Stranger—“ And my head is all stuffed up, and I have a tearing cough.” Doctor —“A little cold along with it, I see. Take —” Stranger —“And I just feel as if this world was a rip-roaring old fraud, aud I’d like to throw that miserable old grinning moon at the sun and stuff all the stars down somebody’s throat.” Doctor —“You’ve got the grip.”— Neiv York Weekly. “You SEEM to be in high spirits, my boy.” “Yes. My wife decided to go away two weeks earlier this year than she did las year.” Temperance in everything is re quisite for happiness.— Haydon. RUNNING A HILL FARM. An acquaintance of mine who owns a hilly farm manages it in such away that he gets about as large an income from it as most men do from level farms of equal size, writes F. Grundy to Fat m and Fit eside. A small creek runs across the farm, the valley along which it flows being deep and its sides very steep. This valley, in cluding the greater part of the gullies leading into it, is fenced in and used as a pasture for cows and sheep. There is a fine sod over the whole, and he keeps only sufficient stock in the pasture to keep the grass reason ably short. If any spot is grazed too short or the grass is killed out, it is \ heavily manured and seeded with a gture of redtop, blue grass and te clover. The manure prevents stock fronv gxaasmg it oloee 'entil a firm sod is established. In the deep gullies, where usually see only a tangle of bush, crabap- 4 pits, wild grape vines and weeds, he has planted several varieties of native and Japan plums and Moore’s Early, Concord and Niagara grape vines. He stys these deep gullies sre fit only for brush and vines, and he sees no reason why they should cousist of wild crabs, and wild grapes and other trash when good fruit will answer the purpose just as well. Inside the pasture he has planted the lower part of those gullies with ash and catalpa trees, while the sides of the little creek are lined with these and maple trees. In a few years he will have all the fenceposts and fire wood he needs. The upper level or nearly level land he farms, growing corn chiefly, which is fed to his stock during the winter months. In speaking of his methods and practices he said to me : “I’m a sort of theoretical fellow aud have been laughed at a great deal by some of my neighbors on account of my no tions about planting trees and man aging the hillsides and gullies on my farm, but I’ve paid no attention to their fun, though I must confess that I did feel a little silly when I cleared out that gully near the house and planted it to plums, Siberian crabs and grapevines ; also when I planted those trees along either side of the creek. I see uow r that it was the right thing to do, and I am getting lots of fruit from those gullies, while I am now getting enough posts from my timber plantings to keep my pasture fences up. I may be ‘an odd genius,’ as some call me, but I am making a good living and something more off this ‘ragged 80,’ and I’m not working myself to death either.’’ If any for a mo ment that the njelfeods “odd '(the farms up 1 down the creek. The hillsides on these are seemed with deep gullies and utterly bare of vegetation, while the ravines are wild tangles of worthless briers, vines aud weeds. The owners are trying to scratch a living from the upland and wishing somebody would come along aud buy them out. They do not seem to care to follow the example of their little neighbor. Why ? Because he’s merely an “odd genius !” SHE UPHELD HER DIGNITY. Some of the colored folk are bound to maintain their dignity. One of these ladies was employed by a wealthy Louisvillian who swore by the wholesale. Economy was no ob ject to him when it came to cuss words, aud he scattered these pearls of speech over all subjects. The cook was a past grand mistress of her art. She knew what she knew and could turn out dreams from the skillet and oven, but she had ideas of her own dignity. “One mawnin’,” said she, “I done cook a elegant brekfuss. Dar wuz chicken an’ ’tater an’ beat biskit an’ coffey an’ muff’ns, an’ dat man he cum down stairs, an’ he do talk scan d’lous. I lissen an’ I lissen. He cuss dis an’ he cuss dat, an’ he jes’ mumbT to hisself, an’ I jes’ couldn’ stan’et. I marches out, Isays, ‘Sail, ef you don’t like dis hyar cookin’, say so, an’ I goes, but I ain’t gwine hear yer cuss me au’ my wuk.’ “ ‘Hyar, gal,’ says he. ‘I likes dis cookin’ a’rite. Wot yer mean bossiu’ me when I cusses to my own wife?’ “ ‘Dat’s all rite,’ I says mi’ty brash, ‘but you don’t cuss me er I goes.’ “An’ sence den,’’ declared the col ored upholder of her rights and dig nity, “ole marse jes’ stuck on my cookin’ an’ I’se de only pusson on de lot he neber cusses.” The old man is right. When you get a good cook, grapple her to you with hooks of steel, even if you have to leave eff cussing. MAKING HIM WHOLE. “It takes the glorious West to do business,” said the man w’ith the al ligator grip as he boarded the train at St. Paul. “We of the East are not in it a little bit.” ‘ ‘Anything to relate ?’ ’ queried one of the passengers as he woke up. “Just a few words. I traveled from New York to Chicago with a staving-looking girl. At Buffalo I was gone on her. At Detroit we were engaged. As we reached Chi cago she had set the date. I return ed home, wrote her 320 love letters, and came out here to get married.” “And then ?” ‘ ‘She decided that she would marry another. She estimated the value of my time at SSOO, the worth of my let ters at 8300 and my broken heart at 8200, and drew me a check for a thousaud dollars, and here it is. Gave her a receipt in full to date, kissed her good-bye and there you are aud here I am. There’s but one way to do business aud the West knows all about it. Yes, check for a thousand, and now, how many of you gentle men will smoke a Henry Clay at my expense?” Along the path of painful persis tence we pass to perfection. TAKE YOUR MEDICINE. “Some rain must fall into every life,” no skies are always clear; No eye but sometimes has to feel tbe dampness of a tear; No heart is always light and glad, no cup is ever sweet. No lifepath always free from thorns that wound the toiling feet, But when the cares seem heaviest then courage should be shown. No angry clouds can be dispelled and scattered with a moan, And when your sun is cloaked from sight re strain the rising curse— Just take your pill and thank the Lord it isn’t any worse. Tbe man who dodges in affright when trouble lightnings flash. Who cringes like a beaten cur beneath affliction's lash. Whose lips are pale with mute despair, whose head is lowly bowed. Whose timid spirit is appalled at every threaten ing cloud, Can never hopo to breast the waves on life’s tempestuous sea. Can never hope to hold his place with men more brave than he; So, timid mortal, show your nerve, light every reverse. And take your pill and thank the Lord it isn’t any worse. T&o.inen wiiu pinut their rtet toe sum of success Are they who never faltered when confronted by distress— W’ho sanded well the slip’ry track, kept rigid upper lip. And snickered in the face of care and never lost their grip. Then courage take, ye faint of heart; the clouds will pass away. The sunbeams of success again upon your paths will play: Don’t sit around with scowling face, your every word a curse, But take your pill and thank the Lord it isn’t any worse. THE MILL HAND’S DAUGHTER. He hadn’t slept soundly. He rare ly slept soundly now. It wasn’t his age, surely, he was only 57; and it couldn’t be his business affairs, for all his investments were sound and highly remunerative, and his large income was rapidly increasing. No, he must look for the cause elsewhere. Perhaps it would be well to consult a doctor. He arose and, lighting the gas, looked at his watch, it was half past 4. He went to a window that faced the east and raised the sash. The air came in cool and fragrant. Low down by the faraway ridge streaks of pale light were showing. “I’ll see this sunrise,” said Amos Brandon. “I haven’t seen one since I was a boy.” He hastily dressed himself and bathed his face and hands. “I’ll see it from the out side,” he added, and softly creeping down the stairway found his hat aud opening the great door descended the stone steps that led to the street. As he faced the east and moved slowly along the avenue he snuffed the air and found it good. He even took off his hat and let it cool his head. “It certainly seems to me that this is better than tossing on that com fortless mattress,” he muttered. “Wonder why I never thought of it before?” The pale streaks in the east grew broader, a pink flush rose behind the jynndpd crest, the clouds became hazv. , bwitfly the flush deepened, spokes of light were flung upward, and then came the sun. Amos Brandon walked slowly on ward, eagerly watching these magic chauges. “Oh,” he said, “that’s fine. It’s worth the trouble. How many peo ple know anything about it ? Precious few. Look at the present audience. One restless, lonely old man and a night watchman or two. What a shame.” He came to a street intersection and paused and looked at his watch. “Quarter after 5,” he muttered. “No, I’ll not go home. I feel like a runaway boy. I’ll stroll down to the lake. I don’t believe I’ve really seen the lake in a dozen years.” He walked at a leisurely gait, breathing in the tonicky air aud ever aud anon turning his gaze on the sun tinted clouds. His eyes were bright er and his step more elastic. He seemed to grow younger as he ad vanced. Laboring men, swinging their dinner boxes, looked around as they passed him. His was an un usual figure at that early hour. Once he heard a man repeat his name to his companions, and they all stared curiously at him as they passed. As he came within sight of the lake’s blue ripples a girl came across the avenue and turned in on the side walk just ahead of him. She was a girl of perhaps 14, rather slender, with a clear olive complexion and thick dark hair. She was neatly dressed, save her shoes, which were dingy and frayed, and in her hand she carried a basket whose contents were concealed beneath a white paper. Amos Brandon quickened his steps a little. “You are au early riser,” he said to the girl. At the moment he was interested in early risers. “Yes, sir,” said the girl, who show ed no surprise at his abrupt remark. “I have to rise early to carry my father’s breakfast to him. He is a helper at the mills over there.” She pointed to a long row of dingy build ings not tar ahead. She spoke well and with a lack of constraint that the old man admired. “Why doesn’t your father come home to his breakfast?” he asked. “He goes to work at midnight and quits at noon,” she answered. “And how far do you come?” “About a mile and a half.” She gave him a little nod and turn ed to cross a vacant field that would save her a few steps. Amos watched her for a moment as she sturdily stepped forward. “A good little woman, and her father should be proud of her. I hope he is.” He sighed softly as he plodded on. He enjoyed the lake with its dim ply surface, and the swash of the little waves as they struck the piling, and the black banner of smoke trail ing after a faraway steamer. Pres ently he turned and strolled over to ward the iron mills. Almost in a moment he came upon the girl of the lunch basket. She was sitting on a low pile of boards, and close beside her sat a workingman, bare armed and sinewy; a swarthy man, with small black eyes and a short black beard. He was eating, with evident enjoyment, the breakfast the girl had brought him. Amos Brandon paused at the picture. It pleased him. He nodded smilingly to the girl, who nodded back, and when the swarthy man looked up he nodded to him too. Amos leaned against a pile of lumber. “Your load will be lighter on the way back,” he said to the girl. “Yes,” she answered, “father al ways has a good appetite.” The swarthy man looked up. He nodded gravely to Amos. “She good girl,” he slowly said. “Come long way.” “Yes,” said Amos, “I’m sure she’s a good girl.” The swarthy man looked around at the object of his praise. There was fondness in his glauce. “Smartgirl,too,” hesaid. “Teach er says smartest girl in English school.” He said this with some difficulty, but with evident gratifica tion* s * J "“Oil, latuer,” crieaiuecmici, witir a swift little blush. Then the swarthy man’s rough voice grew softer. “She all I got,” he said. “I see,” said Amos Brandon. “Mutter dead, bruder dead, sister dead. Only Lena left.” He turned a little and stroked the girl’s hand. Something rose in the rich man’s throat, and a mist swam before his eyes. The swarthy man smilingly looked his child over from hat to shoes. When he reached the shoes he scowled. “Bad shoes!” he said. “Bad shoes!” The girl turned to Amos Brandon. “Fathar thinks I should wear my best shoes,” she explained. “He doesn’t know how fast this walk would wear them out.” “Best shoes !” echoed the swarthy man; “yes, yes, best shoes.” He looked at Amos Brandon. Then he softly touched the girl’s shoulder with a forefinger and struck himself sharply on the forearm and chest. ‘ ‘She what I work for,’ ’ he smiling ly said. “I must go,” remarked Amos Brandon hurriedly. He paused and stepped forward. “I would like to shake hands with you,” he said to the swarthy man, who met the ad vancing fingers with a warm clasp. Amos nodded to the girl and strode away. There was a cross town car waiting for the signal to start. He caught it aud 20 minutes later opened the front door of his home. The housekeeper met him in the hall. Her anxious face cleared. “Glad you have returned, Mr. Bran don,” she said. “We were begin ning to worry a little over your un usual absence.” “Out for an early stroll, Mrs. Em erson.” he said. “Kindly have breakfast ready in halt &n liovli I .”' ' He stepped into the library and opened his desk. For a moment he sat in deep thought. Then he rapid ly indited this letter: My Dear Mary:—l find it is quite Impossible to bold out any longer. I am growing old, and I need you, dear child. Tbe door from which I turned you two long, long years ago is open for you and yours. You are all I have in the world, dear. Without you the house is cold and deso late. For what have I been toiling all these years but for you ? Come back to me, daughter, and all will be forgiven and forgotten. Tell your husband that a hearty handclasp awaits mm. Say to him that I confess that I sorely mis] udged him. Write to me, dear, as soon as you receive this and tell me when to expect you and George. Your affectionate father, Amos Brandon. He looked at the letter when he had finished it and shook his head. Then he carefully read it through. Again he showed his disapproval. After a moment or two he raised the sheet and deliberately tore it to bits of jagged paper and tossed them into the waste basket. “Pshaw,” he smilingly muttered, “that’s too slow! I’ll hurry down and telegraph Mary that I’m coming for them, and then I’ll follow by the first train.” The housekeeper stood in the door way. “Breakfast is ready, Mr. Brandon,” she announced. The rich man whirled toward her. “Mrs. Emerson,” he said, “I want you to put Mary’s rooms into the nicest possible shape at once.” The housekeeper started. “Is Miss Mary coming home, sir?” she eagerly asked. “Yes,” said Amos Brandon, “she’s coming home.” — Cleveland Plain- Dealer. ON THE SOCIETY RUSH LINE. He adored her, and she had en gagements ahead for all social func tions in sight and what was to follow. Therefore she was a very busy young woman. It would have made her very unhappy to have been idle under the circumstances. He was more than anxious to have a moment with her, in order to tell her what was in his heart, notwith standing she partially knew by reason of his persistent attentions and the few words he had been able to fling at her during the rush. The desire to speak to her, definite ly, grew upon him, however, until he could resist no longer, aud he thrust himself upon her one evening at a function of some sort, where among so many people, he thought to find obscurity for a few brief moments. “I beg your pardon,” he said to her, anxiously, earnestly, pleadingly, “but I have something to say to you and I want to see you alone for just a minute.” “I am very sorry,” she replied, “but Mr. Smithlets is waiting forme there by the door.” “Let him wait,” hesaid desperate ly ; “his engagement is for an hour, mine is for all time.” “Oh,” she answered, “is that it? Very well; just consider that I have said ‘yes.’ Now run along like a good boy and come around Sunday afternoon. I’m to have a few people in between 4 and 6 o’clock.” Then his soul was filled with the joy unutterable, and with a glad smile he moved through the giddy throug and his heart was a rest. “Do editors ever do wrong?” “No.” “What do they do?” “They do write?” ESTABLISHED TEETH OF ANIMAIIH . Recently I lost a horse w^B doctored for about all the cH known and for some time known. The animal seemed SBR willing to eat, but after all ate*, little, and gradually declined,MY t very emaciated it died. done what should have been fore, a regular veterinary not a “hoss doctor,” who had faith fully guided the animal to its death —• was called to conduct a post mortem examination. As soon as he heard a statement of the case, he said : “The - trouble was with the teeth.” Aud so it was. The horse had lost an up per back tooth, and the lower tooth, having no upper tooth to keep it worn down, had grown to such a length i that it pressed against and into the J c : .v- i... eat pain, ,41a to death. I have learned two lessons from the case : One is-fogH the “hoss doctor” a whole berth, atnH the other is to make au examination of the teeth of animals. I Thousands of horses, the vast major- I itv of horses, never have their mouths I looked into during their entire lives ; 1 and the teeth of horses are unques- tionably very often in need of dentis try. IMPERFECTIONS. The first or milk teeth frequently interfere with the growth of the sec ond teeth, just as they do in children, A but in many cases are not resa*stfecbß Wolf teeth have been regarded as al cause of trouble with the e}(es, and they have been sought for and ikuock ed out or got out in some way. Den tition is very apt to affect the eyes, and wolf teeth has no more to do with it than any other tooth cutting. The outer edges of the upper teeth of the horse will sometimes overhang the lower teeth, the result of insufficient use of the teeth to keep them worn off even. A very large portion of the time the horse is not using its teeth. Three times a day and a portion of the night the animal is chewiug. The balance of the time the teeth are not in use. \j^ RESULT OF BAD TEETH. Fortunately the horse does not often have rotten teeth, but in conse- • quence of the only partial use of the teeth by the domestic horse, they bet*- come ill-shapen, and it is unable to properly masticate its food. The re sult is indigestion, colic and perhaps death. Cattle, on the other have rotten teeth, and some cases ofl supposed lump jaw are nothing butß decayed teeth. We are careful of thefl old clock on the mantel, and ( occa-fl sionally have it repaired, but the most delicate machinery in ■ possession to go with little or no u^B attempt the tnJPKntof teeth, as a general thing, butH pay to look at them, and to veterinarian to remedy anything thaV is wrong with them. Chas. man , Agticultutal Epitomist. I THE LANGUAGE OF COLORS. According to tradition, sktgAkH denotes amiability, power; pale yellow, edge and deceit. Orange is :^B of splendor, intelligence ness; while rose-pink is cmtH of youth, gayety aud affectidM dark tone it reads joy, love. Damask-red pertains to dijwgP ty, pomp and ostentation. Dark belongs to friendship and fidelitH|| combined with peace. White repiß|| sents purity, innocence aud refiqH ment ; gray, sadness, indifference age ; violet, nobility ; maroon, if ifi|| very rich fabric, modest elegance, bffj| more commonly it belongs to and resignation. Tender silver is the accompaniment of hope; deep green indicating strength, trust and plenty. CoWHf are of great antiquity, and frequß-".;; mention of them is made in the To the cochineal insect we are ind(B ed for carmine and scarlet; bone black are produced from chippings ; the cuttle-fish suppl* . pia : and from the camel we dian gold. Turkey-red is from the madder plant, which in Hindoostan ; Prussian-blue is iflß||| ufactured by fusing horses’ hoofs HR|| impure potassium carbonate, thcH|||| ural earth of Sienna furnishes sienna, and that of Embria, wlB burnt, umber. Every nation Europe employs a different hue sign of mourning. For faint brown, to symbolize with* leaves, is worn in Persia ; tVS pians and Abyssinian dor | srrßp.3sj brown as significant aJH Chinese ai,uy emblem of white-handed sapphire blue is chosen in Bokh*||§ In Egypt and Burmah yellow cates losses, the shade of the sere faded leaf ; and in Turkey we finH violet fashions the garment of grief* WAB MISTAKEN. Bl “Nothing makes me so tired,” claimed Green as he threw aside weekly humorous paper, “as about mothers-in-law. Now, a mother-in-law in our family w* the dearest, sweetest, best wonßß earth. She has done more than any other human being, she’s all the world to me.” S “Well, you’re the first man ever heard say such things abou/t Blip mother-in-law.” BUS “Who said anything aboutH mother-in-law?” ‘ ‘Oh, she isn’t your motlier-in-laß&V' Then whose is she?” “My wife’s.” iH The following is the ment of a Northampton county er who wished to secure the a lost calf: was a she calf. His 2 aud legs where white. finds hi ms pays 5 dollar. jHBB Schmit, 3 miles behind the —Harleysville News. ABB If you wish to be good first belß ; y*„ that you are bad.