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VOL. 51. WHOLE N° 1829.
S&iscellancotts. WOVISH^^ —TO— INTRODUCE OUR PATRONS —TO OUR— ANNFY 321 N GAYST iIiI 11 liA BALTIMORE, Md., WHICH IS COMPLETE WITH A ih Stock of Seasonable I' 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 SKIRTS, made lateststylesaddle back, from to $5.00 LADIES BLACK SATIN AND BLACK SILK SKIRTS, a special to our regular customers. A SIO.OO Skirt for *5.98 HEADQUARTERS IN OLD TOWN —FOR— BLANKETS —AND— COMFORTS. A ilrst-cla9B extra large size Comfort, satine cov ered, pure white cotton, a regular $1.50 value, for ••JJJ 0 * Also. Cut Comforts for only •“sc. And Silk Comforts only .$4.50 and $5.00 Pure all-wool red, grey and white blankets, $4.50 Special 1* Blanket, white and grey only 98c. WH. J. KLUG, 319 N. GAY STREET, Bet. High and Front Sts.. OLD TOWN, BALTIMORE, Md. Nov.lßtMch.lß. MULLER BROS. —MANUFACTURERS OF HARNESS j TRUNKS -HEADQUARTERS FOR- Horse Blankets and Robes, TRAVELING BAG AND SUIT CASES. Hand Sewed Buggy Harness. Nickel <P I O fin or Imt. Rubber Trimmed 4>IZ.UU Hand-Made Hair Collars .... 2.00 Collar Pads, all Sizes 25c Square Horse Blankets 75c Large Size Horse Blankets, Fancy Pat- 1.80 2.50 RBaniHaraess an J Bicycles IN STOCK. 419 East Baltimore Street, Nkar Gay Street, BALTIMORE, Md. Dec.2.’99y. E. G. Hipsley & Co., COFFEES & TEAS, STAPLE AND FANCY GROCERIES, WHOLESALE AND RETAIL, Gay and Colvin Streets, OLD TOWN, BALTIMORE, Md. rWAII orders carefully packed and delivered to any railroad station FREE OF CHARGE. Jan. 6.—12 m. IRCilhSlflliO. OF BALTIMORE COUNTY. JOHN I. YELLOTT, A. A. PIPER. President. Secretary and Treasurer. Rooms 2 & 4 Piper Building, TOWSON, Md. Director*— JOHN I. YELLOTT, A. A. Piper, Ei.mf.r J. Cook, Osborne I. Yei.i.ott, John J. Ti manus. unuev Tn I fill] On Mortgage of Real or mUnCI IU LUhH Personal Property. The Company is also engaged in the business of FIRE INSURANCE Issuing the policies of well-known and reliable Companies in any amount. $y A share of the patronage of the public is solicited. Jan. 6.—12 m. BOLGIANO'S BEST SEEDS GROW! If you want to make money plant BOLUIA 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 ho can obtain at Bolgiano's. The crop or Peas and Beans has been a short one, but see Bol gia.no before you buy. He is the teedman that shares his profits with the farmers by giving them low prices with reliable seeds. Remember, before placing your Spring order that Bolgiano's best seeds qrotc, and you can’t have a thoroughly successful year (financial! y) 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 hard labor and toil that would otherwise go to utter waste and you receive no return for your honest effort to make a livelihood. J. HOLOIANO A SON, 28 S. Calvert Street, Baltimore, Md. Dec.9tJunel7. IT WILL PAY YOU TO Y TALK WITH GERNAND I Ejre you insure YOUR LIFE. Y Nearly 25 Years Life X Insurance Experience. Y N. Calvert St., Baltimore. )NG-DISTANCE TELEPHONE. Y -: SEASONABLE DRESS GOODS A MILLINERY, COMFORTS AND BLANKETS, ALL KINDS UNDERWEAR, R. & G. Corsets and Brainerd A Armstrong Silks. THE MISSES MAYER & LOOSE, TOWSON, Md. Jan.fttFeb.t. THE MAN WITH THE DOUGH. O the man with the hoe That they talk about so Is all right in his way. I concede; But the man with the dough Is the man here below Who has power to supply all his need. It’s tbe man with the dough Who can make a thing go. And we, all of us. give him a smile ; Tho’ it be all in vain. Yet the reason is plain— We all hope to get part of his pile. You may talk as you will. But the fact remains still. That the man with tbe dough is the thing; You may slave with tho hoe. But you reign with the dough. And to half of mankind you are king. Ah! the man with tbe hoe And the man with the dough. What a powerful team they might make; If they stood side by side, Nor each other defied. All the mountains of earth they could shake. To tho man with the hoe And the man with tbe dough. Here is wishing you both may be blest; May you each reach tbe goal Of the Christ-mastered soul Ao d in heaven forever And rest. —MtlvUle I Vinans Miller, in Indianapolis Frets. THE WEDDING AT MILES’ ELAT. Miles’ Flat was wide awake that fine June morning. Every man had on his best suit. Some attempt at style had been made by a few, who had bouquets of wild flowers stuck in their frayed button holes. One ambitious miner sported a white tie. Dan Symmes, better known as “the Weasel,” wore white gloves. A group of horses, bronchos and mules, made a background of tossing heads and ragged manes and tails. In the farther distance the rugged foothills, seamed by panned out “lead, ’ ’ and yellow with heaps of clay and gravel thrown out by those who, in some remote age of the history of Miles’ Flat had hoped to make their fortunes from the washings. At the right, the turgid, sodden waters of the San Estello river cutting their ag gressive way down through the gold bearing sand of the valley— at the left the opening which led out to the coast, through which the soft wind of the Pacific blew up in the faces of the men. The conversation was naturally of the expected wedding, for a wedding was not and ordinary occurrence at Miles’ Fiat. Grant Wardwell, the prospective bridegroom, was a general favorite. Everybody wished him well. He was honest, square and brave. He had been one of the first men who had invaded the silences of the moun tains in search of the precious metal, which cropped out of almost every rock and rivulet in the valley. He was thirty-five now, tall and stalwart, as a miner should be to withstand the hardship of his life. He was well-bred and fairly well ed ucated. For six years he had been trothed when he left civilization be hind him and turned his face to the setting son. When Wardwell was twenty-two there had been a brief, sweet romance in his life. He had loved, with all the rugged strength of his nature, Adelaide Ralston, a girl far above him in station. For the space of three months he had known all the delights of heaven, and suffered all the pains of hell —the first, when he thought Adelaide loved him ; the sec ond, when she told him gently that she could be nothing to him. For awhile he thought himself wounded unto death, then his manhood assert ed itself, and he acknowledged her right to go her ways, if she chose. It was a little after that, and while he was still smarting from the pangs of his first disappointment, that Caro line Couway came into his life. The hurt he had received healed under the ministrations of the blue-eyed golden haired girl who smiled on him, and when he left the east she was his promised wife —to come to him as soon as he had made a comfortable home for her. And all through those six years, when his day’s toil was over, Grant worked on his cabin. He fashioned it with all the skill and cunning at his command, making the little kitch en handy for Caroline—bringing the water from the hills in a pipe, so that she would not have to go outside in rainy weather ; contriving cupboards and closets for her dishes, and cosy nooks for her sewing machine and rocking chair, which he had already brought down from San Francisco. The miners laughed when he sub scribed for a Ladies' Home Magazine, and spent the evening, while the rest of the settlement devoted to poker playing, in studying its pages, which told how to construct chairs out of barrels and dressing-tables out of dry goods boxes. But when his ideas had taken shape, and the pretty little cabin showed its whitewashed walls against the dull yellow background of the hills, they admired it duly, and declared, with many well meant oaths, “that Wardwell’s shebang beat the band.” The cabin had a wide veranda in front, and Grant had planted wild cu cumber vines, and the yellow and crimson climbing roses he had bought in Los Angelos, and already the rough redwood pillars were glorious with color and fragrance. Caroline would like to sit here, the foolish fel low told himself, because she could see the mines so well, and perhaps she could sometimes distinguish him from the other men. To-day, the culmination of all his six years of patient toil was at hand. Caroline was expected on the noon train from the east. She wanted to be married as soon as she arrived —it would be the proper thing, her folks said, seeing as there was no woman friend to play propriety over her. Wardwell had not seen her for six years, and in that time his hair had turned gray on his temples, and there were lines on his forehead that had not been there when she had kissed him good-bye. He wondered, as he inspected himself in the glass, if she would think him much changed, and if she would love him as well as she did when all his locks were brown. Caroline —the sweet, dainty crea ture, with her sea-blue eyes, and her hair yellow as the gold he had come to this western wilderness to wrest from the unwilling earth ! In all these years his loyal heart had never swerved from it allegiance to her. Every stroke of his spade had been for her. Every ounce of the shining dust that he had “salted down” in the bank in San Francisco had been broken from the stubborn quartz with thoughts of her nerving his arm to greater endurance. If he had thought of Adelaide Ral ston at all —and being a man, who shall say that he had not? —it had been as one remembers a delicious dream, which has melted into and been absorbed in the subtle mistiness of the past. To-day, his wedding day, Ward well was in a new suit of blue flan nel, a rose in his button-hole, his face clean shaven, his hair well brushed, and his knotty hands trembling with the strong emotions of anticipation. His brown eyes were soft, and his fine, sensitive mouth was as sweetly wistful as that of a child longing for its mother. “What if anything should happen that she didn’t come?” said Jim Bow en, otherwise known as “the Crow,” because of his habit of prognosticat ing evil. “There is no fear of her not com ing,” said Wardwell, loyally ; “Car oline would not disappoint me to-day. It is our wedding day, boys.” “Woman is woman,” said Jim, whose wife had run away from him to elope with a mine boss over Flagstaff way—‘‘can’t depend on them no more than you can on a bucking broncho.” Just then the train was seen com ing round the long curve by the bridge over the San Estello, and the men rushed down to the little station to watch the arrival of Wardwell’s bride. Wardwell had hurried off at the first sound of the whistle. The train halted and the passen gers alighted. Three men, and one of them the new mine boss, and one woman, presumably his daughter, since it had been reported that she was to accompany her father. The engine began to get up steam —the mail-bag was thrown aboard — the conductor spread his hands as a signal to the engineer to go ahead, and Caroline had not come. Wardwell’s swart cheek was ashy white. His breath came in labored gasps. He rushed forward to stay the progress of the train. “There is some mistake!” cried he; “she must be on board. She wrote me she would come. Conduc tor, there is a lady who should have stopped here. She must have mis understood the name of the place. Ct 2H lifS'ftnWftfe'exlTreVjiciii iiegiasp ed the rail of the Pullman —the brake man waved him back, but it was too late. The train had gathered consid erable headway and Wardwell had not calculated on its resistance. He slipped and fell beneath the car. A cry of horror went up from the by standers, and for a second it seemed as if he must be ground to atoms be neath the wheels. But the young woman who had alighted from the train leaped forward and, seizing him by the coat, pulled him back. His right hand hung helplessly by his side, and the blood dripped from his crushed fingers slowly down on the platform. “Great Heavens !” he cried, as he saw the pale, excited face of his pre server, “it is—it’s Adelaide Ral ston !” And then the world seemed to reel dizzily around him, and everything grew dark. For the first time in all his strong healthy life, Grant Ward well had fainted. When he came to himself, he was in his own home, which the miners had christened Saints’ Rest. His friends were around him. Miss Ral ston was sitting in Caroline’s rocking chair. His arm had been bound up, and Symmes had been to the post office, and was waiting with a letter in his hand. “Cheer up, pardner,” Symmes said, kindly. “There’s a letter for ye. It’s from her, maybe. It’s a woman’s writin’.” Wardwell snatched the missive from him and tore it open. He glanc ed at the page. There was but a few lines. A mist came over his vision. He gave the letter back to Symmes. “Read it for me,” he said, faintly, ‘ ‘ I —can ’ t seem to make it out right. ” Symmes was a slow reader, but he managed to spell out the contents of the sheet. He read it in a monoto nous voice, interspersed with profan ity at the sentiments of the writer. Caroline wrote : “Dear Mr. Ward well, I have changed my mind. Ido hope you will not be so very badly disappointed. I have married Mr. George Martin, who has been want ing me for some time. He is well to-do, and I don’t think I am suita ble ’to be a poor man’s wife. My folks don’t think so, either.” Signed “Caroline.” “Confound her!” cried Symmes, savagely. “Jest like all the rest of the onsartin sex 1” Wardwell did not speak, but his broad chest heaved convulsively, and he clenched the fingers of his uuin injured hand in the folds of the bed clothes. “It’s a blasted shame !” said “the Weasel,” drawing his big fist across his eyes—“all them six years wasted building a house for a woman that warn’t suitable. If it was mine, I’d burn it to the ground.” * “No,” said Wardwell, drearily; “I’ll keep it to remind me that in all the world no one cares enough for me to live in it, and make it a home for me.” Then Adelaide Ralston rose from the little chair where she had been sitting and came toward the bed. Her beautiful face was pale, but her black eyes shone with a steady light. The circle of rough men fell apart to allow her to come near to Wardwell. For a moment she stood looking down at him, and then she spoke. Her voice was sweet but firm, and no one TOWSON, MD., SA' who heard her could mistake her sin cerity. “A little more than seven years ago, Grant, I refused you because I did not know my own mind. Only when I had learned that you were bound to another, did I realize what I had cast away. The woman in whom you placed your trust has de ceived you. Grant, before these men, who are your friends, I offer to take this false woman’s place. I offer to make Saint’s Rest my home and yours.” A faint tinge of color swept her face as he dropped her eyes upon the ground and waited his decision. But a wild cheer went up from the men—a cheer that was caught up by the whinnying of the horses tethered , near, and echoed by the mountains : until every cliff resounded. A ligbt broke over Wardwell’s white face. He struggled to his feet and took a step toward her. “Adelaide,” he said,” are you sure .that you are not doing this because you pity me?” “I am doing it because I love you,” she said, steadily. With his one good arm he caught her to his breast, and, with the touch of her lips on his, he knew that in all his life he had loved but this woman with his whole heart. So, after all, there was a wedding at Miles’ Flat that day, and a fairer or sweeter bride the grim old mountain never looked upon than she who went in unto Saint’s Rest as its mistress. Wardwell? Oh, yes he rcovered, of course, and if ever a thought of Caroline Martin crossed his mind, he smiled at the wife he worshipped, and wondered within himself how it was that he had ever been so happy fash ioning cupboards and cosy corners for George Martin’s wife. AMERICAN HOUSEKEEPERS. “If you want to know why we have no first class professional house keepers in this country,” volunteered the importer of an English specimen, “it is because the American woman is too proud and far too independent to allow an employee to manage her home. That is also the reason why we with the best ordered, most lux urious homes in the world, suffer from criminally wasteful domestic manage ment and the worst service of any highly civilized people. In France or England, where half as much money is spent where there is twice the work for the servants to do and a third of the conveniences here put at their dis posal, the fashionable country or city house is conducted with a noiseless regularity that fills the Americau xistiftr wj/AAioLhiug are by no means large a corps of fin ished servants will be found that only millionaires over here can af ford. “Just so long as the American wo man is head of a modest household she is the most all around capable house keeper in the world; she can face stiffer odds and rout them more ut terly than any French or English wo man living. We are the only women in the world who, when deserted at a critical moment, can cook a meal and yet sit at the head of the table, while that same meal is being served, in a fetching frock, carrying on a conver sation as though nothing had happen ed. It is a charming faculty, but when she is put at the head of a corps of twenty servants and a great coun try house her system fails. “A big, fashionable household is just like a big ship, it’s got to have a captain to direct its coarse and an en gineer to run the machinery, and in the foreign countries they realize and provide for this. In France it is usu ally a maitre d’hotel who shouldets the domestic burden. He has work ed up in the service and his word is law to the servants. He hires and dismisses them, plans their work, sees that it is done and he guarantees to keep the men and maids well fed on a stated allowance. The mistress gives him a fixed sum every month and on this he caters for the servants’ table that is by no means supplied from the larder that feeds the family. Every servant is entitled to the scraps he or she leaves and has his or her own plate, knife, fork, spoon, &c., and when a meal is over these are washed and set away by their owners in their special cupboards. Scraps are an important item to the thrifty French domestic. “In England there is a woman who does this, and every handsome Eng lish house is built with special house keepers’ quarters, a sitting room and " bedroom. Some American houses are now being provided with these special two rooms. “My housekeeper is ef the typical sort. She is about forty, plump, pleasing and a settled widow who en tered service at sixteen as a scullery maid and has worked up. She is ad dressed by the household as Mrs. Brown, and every afternoon her tea is served in her sitting room at 4 o’clock by a maid. She drinks tea and eats her dinner alone, later wear ing a plain black silk gown, a muslin wreath cap and a small lawn apron. Every servant in the house, with the exception of the butler, is under her direct control, and for the good or evil that every servant does she is re sponsible. “She accepts my directions with a humility no decayed gentlewoman would show, and with a respectfulness no confidential lady’s maid ever feels. She gets SSO a month and an allow ance for paying the servants’ wages and catering to their table, and she it is who sees that no waste goes on in my house.” “Marry you!” she exclaimed. “Do you think lam crazy?” “I don’t know about that,” he replied, “but, of course, I will be if you do not.” “Are you sure you love that girl ?” “Well, I can’t work in the morning until I get a letter from her, and af ter I get it I can’ twork.” Y, JANUARY 27, 1900. BENCE MA GOT QUALYFIDE TO VOTE. When we moved out from Michigan ~ m . e better ’n a year ago, Ma said ’at she would be a man The same as pa. in rights, you know, An that was so, fur pa allows His cares is more than he kin tote; Things goin’ to the durned bow-wows Sence she got qualyflde to vote. She used to go around as meek As any lam you ever saw. An’sometimes dassent scurcely speak When somethin’ was a-rilin’ pa. But now she seems to feel that she’s The captain of the household boat, An’ pa’s got shaky in the knees Sence sne got qualyfide to vote. She used to sing the go9pei airs, On Jordan’s stormy banks she’d Btand An’ cast some sort o’ wishful stares At Canaan’s fair an’ happy land. But sich a funny change you’d ort To see ! she doesn’t sing a note That isn’t of the rag-time sort Sence she got qualyfide to vote. She says that she at last has found A road on which she kin advance, An’ poor ol’ pa a-goin’ round U Without no bnttons on his pants. She says the female skies has cleared. The flag o’ liberty’s afloat— Pa Bays she'll next be growin’ beard Sence she got qualyfide to vote. Strange wimmen come to our house now An’ look at pa in ugly way, With wrinkles gethered in their brow. An’ tell him he’s a beast at bay. An’ tna says that’s jest what he is, She is a tiger, he’s a goat; That he has sunk an’ she has riz Sence she got qualyflde to vote. The other mornin’ pa arose Afore she woke from sleep, by jlng! An’ put on all her funny clothes. Her pettiskirts an’ everything; Then yelled at her: “Put ou them pants! Put on that shirt an’ vest an’ coat! You’ve bin a-waitin’ fur the chance Senco you got qualyflde to vote 1” THE JUDGE’S SON. On a hill, enclosed by large, low cedars, stood the old, moss-grown, vine-covered mansion of Judge Scar ritt. His was the grandest house in the village, and he was the richest man. A winding path and drive led up to the low verandah where, in a hammock, and surrounded with dogs large and small, lay the only son of the old J udge. He was stretched out lazily and the half-smoked cigar had fallen to the floor. Judge Scarritt’s son was a hand some young fellow of twenty-two, possessing a fine athletic form, with six feet of brawn and muscle. He is the idol of his old father’s heart, his constant companion and adviser. Adviser, because the Judge always asks his opinion before he decides anything, and whatever the son thought best the Judge was sure to do. People have called Judge Scarritt a hard, harsh old man, but, although he may have appeared so to others, he was gentle and kindness itself to his son. He was completely wrap ped up in the boy, and his great love was returned. I never saw father and son so effectionate. Everything a young man could wish for the Judge’s son had. At the boy’s birth the Judge’s girl wife died. She smiled faintly as the little bundle of humanity was placed j “Love him, dear, for my sake — Gall him Andrew.” The Judge was broken-hearted over her death. He left the child under nurses’ care and traveled unceasingly for a year or more. It occurred to him one day that there was some one who had a claim on him, and he hurried back to his little son, who had grown to be a healthy child. The Judge took him to the old stone mansion where his young wife had died, and it was there the little Andrew grew up into man hood. * * * * * “Hello, Jack, old boy ; have I been asleep?” the young man in the ham mock, yawns, as he is awakened by one of the dogs licking his face. At his voice the whole pack of dogs bounded around him, trying to show er their canine caresses on his face. He laughingly sprang to his feet and strolled down the path to see if the Judge was coming. “My, it’s warm,” he exclaimed, wiping his face with his cambric handkerchief. “I see they want more men for Company I, First Reg iment. Guess I’ll enlist to-morrow morning. What will father say, though ? Well, I believe it to be my duty, and he mustn’t interfere. Poor old dad ! It will go hard with him, I reckon, but it must be done.” A horse with the Judge on its back appeared before him, and the .eyes of both men lighted up with love as they met in the road. “Ha, Andy, my boy; that you? I’m awfully warm ; been out to Dans borough’s. Where’ve you been?” “Noue, none at all; only his son has enlisted and the old man feels pretty badly.” Andrew walked beside his father’s horse home to the house, then went to his room to dress for supper. “I see what; father isn’t ever go -ing to give his consent to my join ing the army. I’ll not ask it, for I intend to do it, and the sooner the better.” He rode over to see little Amy Gleason that evening and told her his intentions. “Oh, Andy!” she cried. “There, dearest, don’t cry. You know I may not get killed. Won’t you tell me to go, darling?” Andrew asked, stroking her soft hair. “Yes, Andrew, go. It’s not for me to beg you not to. You are go ing for a just cause, and God bless you and bring you back,” she re plied. “Amen,” Andrew said, folding her in his arms. * * * * * * Next morning I met him down at Shark’s and asked him if he was go ing to enlist. “Yes, Kid,” he answered (he al ways called me Kid). “O, Mr. Andy! Won’t you let me go with you ? I can be your ord erly,” I pleaded. “Ha ! ha !ha!” he laughed. “Be my orderly ! Too bad, little Kid, but I’m afraid not.” He passed into the examination room and soon returned with a smile on his face. “Are you mustered in?” I asked eagerly. “Yes. Want to go with me to get my suit ?” I accepted gladly. He was soon dressed in the blue, and then said he would go home. I followed him and witnessed the meeting between the old Judge and his sou Andrew. “O, my son, my son !” the Judge cried. “What have- yon done?” “Nothing, father; only enlisted. Come, brace up. It was my duty. Surely you do not think I have done wrong?” “Andrew, my son ! How can I let you go ! Andy ! Andy !” “Now, father, don’t! Pleasedou’t. I will come back.” The Judge could not be comforted. He knew what the chances were of his son coming back, and the blow was a heavy one. The day came when the two had to part. The Judge broke down and had to be carried away. Amy clung to her lover tearlessly ; her vfery heart was being torn out it seemed. At last he had to leave her, and the last she saw of him was when he rushed past the guard to the plat form of the fast going train and wav ed his cap as a last good-bye. % + if. :jc jfi Weeks passed into months, and still the terrible fighting went on. (I forgot to tell you I ran away, and it was too late to send me back I show ed my face. The boys made a pet of me and I was happy, for I was with Andy.) I was nearly scared out of my wits and always hid when a fight was go ing on. One day after a hard battle the boys returned to camp. Some were bleed ing, some dying, and I was afraid my Andy had shared a worse fate, but my heart leaped with joy when I saw him coming towards me. His head was bound and his face haggard and drawn with pain. “O, are you hurt?” I asked anx iously. “Not bad. Only a cut. Where were you during the fight?” “I hid in Ihe woods.” He laughed, but not the free, mer ry laugh that used to ring out so joy ously. One morning they were preparing for battle, and I was helping Andy with his things. “Look here, Kid; if I get killed you must go back to father and little Amy. Tell them I died thinking of them, on the field of battle. There, don’t cry. You know lam liable to be shot, and again I may be spared. If I don’t come back with the rest you must come back and find me. Take this chain—it has a locket on the end with Amy’s picture and a lock of her hair —take it to her. You’ll find a little Bible in my inside coat pock et ; take it to father. You may have the ring on my little finger. Be sure You can get to the folks before a let ter could, so you must go right away. The boys will help you— they said so. Now, I must go. Good bye, Kid. Perhaps I’ll not see you again.” He was gone. The sultry day came to a close. The weary men came back, all that was left, but no Andy, I looked in vain for him. ***** One of the boys told me he was left on the field. Was he dead? He didn’t know. I ran to the ambulance and clam bered to a seat beside the driver. We drove to the field in silence. I jump ed down fend began my search for the Judge’s son. Still, cold faces were turned up to my anxious gaze and my heart ached when I thought of their loved ones who were waiting for them. Would Andy be dead? I stumbled over a soldier in my haste. A groan came from him and I stooped beside him. “Mother,” he feebly moaned. “Give me water.” I put my canteen to his parched lips and he drank eagerly. He look ed up into my face and tried to thank me. His eyes spoke instead, then the poor fellow breathed his last. I continued my search and at last found the one I was seeking. One limb had been shot entirely off and his poor body was riddled with bullets. I sank down beside him and washed the blood off his face. He was dead, of course, but I called him by his name, entreating him to speak to me. I unclasped the chain, remov ed the ring from his finger, but didn’t find the little Bible where he said it would be. I found it on the ground with a noted pined to its back. He had been able to finish it, and only the words, written in a scrawling, wandering way and smeared with his life blood, “Father and Amy, I have been called to go. Good-bye. I died on—” were on it. I watched them bury him ; then true to their word, the men sent me home. No word could have gotten there as soon as I did, so I knew I would have to tell the news to the old Judge and Amy. As I entered the little post office I saw the Judge and Amy coming from the window. Amy saw me first and ran towards me. “Have you news from Andrew?” Tell me quick. Is he alive?” The Judge came up to us and I hardly knew him. He looked ten years older and his face was pale as death. ‘ ‘Ah ! You have come back ; but where’s my son ?” he asked, hoarsely. He read what I would say in my face and staggered against the wall. A crowd gathered around us and I saw Mrs. Gleason supporting her daughter. “Tell us, boy, tell us. Is Andy Scarritt dead ?” some one asked. I pulled the chain and Bible out of my pocket, and gave the note to the Judge. He grabbed and read the few words, then fell with a groan to the floor. I shall never forget that scene. The Judge and Amy were taken home; I went to the Scarritt man sion, but could not see the Judge. Days afterward he sent for me. I , told him all. The old Judge is an altogether dif- ferent man. He goes around in a dazed sort of way and says he’s half crazy. Poor old man. I reckon he is. He lived for his son and now he’s gone the old gentleman cares for no one or anything. PAPER TEETH. Paper teeth are the latest thing in dentistry. For years some substance has been sought for which could re place the composition commonly em ployed for making teeth, and a for tune awaited the man who was lucky enough to hit upon the right material. Although paper has some disadvan tages, they are small compared to its many qualifications, and paper teeth are likely to be used exclusively—at least until more perfect material is found. Up to this time china has been used almost exclusively, but it presents so many disadvantages that dentists have always been on the lookout for some other substance which could re place it. Not only does china not re sist the action of saliva and turn black, but china affects the nerves of the jaws. People who wear false teeth often complain of suborbital neuralgia, and this is put down by many dentists as being caused by the heat or cold act ing on the china or porcelain. Porce lain or mineral composition also is liable to chip or break, and for these reasons have never been satisfactory. The paper teeth are made of papier mache, which is submitted to a tre mendous pressure until it is as hard as required. Their peculiar composi tion renders them cheap, and the price of a set of teeth will go down considerably owing to the new inven tion. The color of the papier mache can also be made to vary, which is an im portant point, as no two sets of teeth are identical in color, some teeth hav ing a strong yellowish cast, while oth ers are bluish white. In order, there fore, to obtain the right tint the color ing matter has only to be introduced into the mixture before the tooth is cast in order to match the other teeth exactly. It is in this particular that china teeth often fail to appear nat tural, their color differing from the other teeth in the mouth and show ing that the tooth is artificial. WHATEVER IS-IS BEST. I know as my life grows older. And mine eyes have clearer sight. That under each rank wrong, somewhere There lies the root of Right; That each sorrow has its purpose. By the sorrowing oft unguessed. But as sure as the sun brings morning. Whatever is—is best. I know that each sinful action. As sure as the night brings shade. Is somewhere, sometimes punished, A •rVVfI.-Hsv.b'vje ((♦JmkJ*!*.*"* Sometimes by the heart’s unrest. And to grow means often to suffer— But whatever is—is best. I know there are no errors In the great eternal plan, And all things work together For the final good of man. And I know when my soul speeds onward In its grand eternal quest, I shall say, as I look back earthward. Whatever is—ls best. —EUa Wheeler Wilcox. ROTATION IN AGBICULURE. Ozark humor, according to the St. Louis Globe Democrat, appreciates the story that a scientist was quite amaz ed the other day at observing a farm er, after killing a nest of snakes turn ed up by the plow, arrange the dead snakes in the furrow before he went back to the plow. “Why do you do that for?” the scientist asked. The farmer looked curiously at the scientist, and seeing that he was real ly in search of information, replied : “I do that so the plow will cover the snakes on the next round.” Seeing that the scientist was still mystified, the farmer continued : “I cover the snakes so that they will decompose. That is what you call it, isn’t it?” “Yes?” said the scientist, with a rising inflection. “Well,” continued the farmer, “the decomposition of animal matter furnishes nourishment for plant life, I believe?” “Yes,” again said the scientist. “Then, the snakes will make the corn grow, won’t they?” “Yes?” said the scientist. “And more corn will make more whisky, won’t it?” said the farmer. “Yes,” said the scientist. “And whisky will make more snakes, won’tit? Mister, that’s what we call rotation in the agriculture of this region.” And the farmer resum ed his plowing. HOW TO SAY ‘ GOOD MORNING.” “How can you?” That’s Swed ish. “How do you are ?” That’s Dutch. “How do you stand?” That’s Italian. “Go with God, senor.” That’s Spanish. “How do you live on?” That’s Russian. “How do you have yourself?” That’s Polish. “Thank God, how are you?” That’s Arabian. “How do you carry yourself?” That’s French. “May thy shadow never grow less.” That’s Persian. “How do you do?” That’s Eng lish and American. “Be under the guard of God.” That’s Ottoman. ‘ ‘ How is your stomach ? Have you eaten your rice?” That’s Chinese. It is said an editor in Tifton, Ga., recently received a proposition from a Chicago firm that they would fur nish him a new patent fire escape for $1 and some advertising to be done later on. The editor borrowed the : dollar and sent it along and in a few > days received a copy of the New Tes tament. Hicks —“That lady you bowed to, • are you particular friends of one an other?” Wicks —“Oh, no; I have sung with her in our church choir?” Hicks —“I see; only a chants ac • quaintance.” ESTABLISHED 1850. SENSE AND NONSENSE. It is not at all meritorious in the cork to float, nor blameworthy in the lead to sink. When you seethe lead swimming, perhaps you have reason as well as cause to praise it. Nothing is more charming than cheerful old age. Time holds a mort gage upon life. The best way to avoid foreclosure is to keep up the in terest. It is worth while to have been fool ish with pounds, if we learn thereby to become wise with pennies. Misunderstanding and misfortune are the rails that keep the train of truth on the track of success. There is no such thing as absolute evil —no place in all the universe where through some chink, be it ever cn •stri'oll. tVif* lielil of ripht does not twinkle in. I had all of it; I gave it to my friend; he took it all and kept it; yet I lost none. He had it, and I had it, and yet there were not two, but one, which, though doubled, was not increased. Mathematically this is impossible ; but logically it is inev itable, for the thing is knowledge. I gave it; she returned it; there there was one only ; yet each had all; and the whole, though divided, was not diminished. It was love. There was only one, yet to me sev en, and in reality three. There was only one, yet every one had it, and for each it was a different one. It had no existence, yet it was ; wholly unsubstantial, yet certain; wholly beautiful, yet only mathematical; an illusion, yet no delusion. It was the rainbow. Learn this lesson, ye practical peo ple,—that there is a region of Truth beyond the frontiers of gross facts, across the boundaries of the physical and the sensuous. Call it spiritual, psychical, or the fourth dimension of space ; it is a region of reality, with out a knowledge of which the physi cal is inexplicable. If I were not a philosopher, it would make me angry that some writ ers could sell my nonsense for twen ty times what it is worth, —I mean what I get for it. Roses with other names. No one can make old mutton spring lamb by serving it with mint sauce ; but plenty try. Wit is the lively youth of humor, but a pun is the idiocy of it. It takes a blind fsol for luck ; -the timid are often the bravest; the sus picious are the foolable. What a top sy-turvy world, where the images are inverted on the retina, and stay so in the mind. Who knows how to take things, when even blackberries are >■ upunto| mortals ; but, as the civil citizen said M to another, “Excuse my back,” he is “agreeable all the way through.” They who consider system, order, regularity, and discipline as tyranical might as well grumble at the constan cy of the attraction of gravitation. God’s gospel is like the attraction of gravitation. No one knows it is ; only that it keeps them upright.^ l Where it is easier to have the real than the imitation, it is the worthless that is valuable, the spurious curious. People with good understanding and poor application, with little learn ing, are like a flue mill with no grist. The truth may be beyond our un derstanding, but it cannot be contrary to it. The religion of creed and custom may be beautiful, and even satisfying, but there is always a doubt as to the I sure title to its possession. It is like “a fair house built upon another I man’s ground.” For a man to act like a woman fre quently requires a vast amount of J manliness. M Truth is the body of all things; M motive the soul of everything. In a country house at which I vis it, the old, tall clock, which is posed to regulate time for the estab lishment, is always some ten minutes slow. I make no attempt to correct it, for thereby I get that much extra sleep in the morning, and the family 1 are punctual and early risers. It is j not only in country houses, nor with J time-.pieces, that we fail to correct in firmities that profit us. lam not a believer in Mrs. Eddy’s " “Christian Science,” because I have read her book ; but I know there is a great deal in “mind” cure. For in stance, before he failed in business a ' friend of mine used to pay his doctor, on the average, five hundred dollars a year. Now that he can no longer afford it, his wife and daughteflwnn CT*' call in a physician, and are the health iest women I know. It is by means of discredited be liefs in the incredible that faith grows 1 sure of the infallible. The pleasure which the contempla tion of one flower gives a child would flood hell with joy. THEIR WAY OF IT. An exchange tells a story of a part nership existing between a Democrat, a Populist, a Republican and a free silver Republican. One of the con ditions of their contract was that when a partner died each of the survivors was to deposit SIOO in the coffin to be buried with the deceased. The Democrat died first and after the re- ‘ mains had been prepared for burial the survivors met and the conditions of the contract were discussed. Said the Republican, “I believe in the sin gle gold standard, and true to principle, I placed five S2O gold pieces I in the coffin.” “And I,” said the silver Republi- I can, “in conformity with my cial views, placed 8100 in silver flip “Well,” said the Populist, “I lieve in fiat money; so I placed m> L. check for 8300 in the coffin and drew out 8200 in change.” I can’t understand how somepeo pie always have a good time, wher- V ever they go.” “That’s easy enough ; they take it I along with them.”