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VOL. 58. WHOLE No. 2239. TOWSON, MX)., SATURDAY, DECEMBER 7. 1907. ESTABLISHED 1850.
fglisceHaneotts. Muller & Yearley, 343 N. GAT STREET, Blankets <fc Robes Our line thla season surpasses all previous ef forts. It comprises alt the Newest and Best Features in HORSE CLOTHING. We have everything In BLANKETS, from a CHEAP BURLAP to the FINEST ALL WOOL. Chase Lap Robes Are here In Oreat Variety of Color and Pleasing Patterns. —OUR PRICES — Just the same pleasing low tone that always prevails at The Harness Store of Baltimore. Bept.2ltMay2s ESTABLISHED 1870. MAIER’S PREPARED PAINTS ABB STRICTLY PURS LEAD AND ZINC PAINTS. Guaranteed Equal to the Best. -MANUFACTURED BY JOHN G. MAIER’S SONS, 183-165 N. GAY STREET, Cor Frederick Street. BALTIMORE, Md. Both Phone*. I July 6—ly BDWARD E. BURNS. FRANK BURNS. JOHN BURNS’ SONS, Funeral * Directors, TOWSON, Md, C. A P. Phono—TOWSON, 77-F. Feb. 23—ly Dr. A. 0. McOURDY & CO., TOWSON. Md. Orders received for— ALL KINDS_OF SLATE. Peach Bottom Roofing Slate, Slabs for Walks, JSfl. Chimney Tops, a£>i3- MjT Bnrlal Cases, KM • Cemetery 81abs, * Imposing Stones, Co., Ac. GWCall on or address as above. C. A P. Phone—Towson 23 R. [June 29—ly ESTABLISHED 1876. BOTH PHONES. danieiT rider, 100 l OREENMOUNT AVENUE, BALTIMORE, Ho., COMMISSION * MERCHANT For the Sale of Hay, Grain and Straw. Orders for Mill Feed, Gluten Feed, Cotton Beed Meal, Oil Cake Meat, Salt, Ac., will receive prompt attention. [Mch. 30—ly P. R. BUCHWALD, Tiler ifl Plata, LAURAVILLE, BALTIMORE COUNTY, Harford Road, Opposite Grindon Lane. Phones. [Mch l#-ly Jitocfe lavras. ISllilili, Oakleigh Station, Md. & Pa. R. R., 8 X Miles from Towson. Constantly on hand A LARGE STOCK OF MULES, TO BUIT ALL PURPOSES. &££* r i|f General Purpose UUIIUJJU FOR SALE OR EXCHANGE. whorsesToardedw C. A P. TELEPHONE. DUANE H. RIOE, Prop’r, TOWSON, Md. OcUB-ly GROVE FARM FALLS ROAD, North of Brooklandvllle, Md PRIZE WINNING— Guernsey Cattle, Berkshire Hogs, Shropshire Sheep, Colored Muscovy Ducks, FOR SALE- . BULL CALF, out of Imp. Lady Simon by Milford Lassie 2d Anchor, Dropped April SOtta, 1907. Also. 8 GRADE GUERNSEY SPRINGERS. In calf to Milford Lassie 2d Anchor, THE BULL THAT WINS. Apply to JAS. McK. MERRYMAN, R. F. D. LuthervtUe. Md. C. A P. Telephone—Towson 42. Oct. 19—y flhrr /'k/W'k TO LOAN IN SUMS OF SI,OOO tbI.tJUU AND UPWARD. Apply to E. W. HERMAN, JaneC—tt. Attorney at Law, Towson, Md. Fob “Th* Union.” THE OLD OAK TREE. BY EDWIN HIGGINS. A flame of gold is the old oak tree “The Burning Bush,” In the oak, I see. There is gold, old gold! The old oak tree Is strewing Its golden flakes o’er me. A giant striped Is the old oak tree Wrestling with the storms of winter for me. The spring tide robes the old oak tree ; Lo! sylvan banners are waving for me. Song in the heart of the old oak tree : Sweetest of soogs from its heart for me. Another owns the old oak tree ; It is dear to him; dearer to me. It looks to the skies. The old oak tree Points to the blue and beckons to me. The life of each like the old oak tree Is touching others and touching me. Centuries have crowned the old oak tree With wealth of seasons, in love, for me. O! ne’er can I forget the old oak tree ; Of its kingly splendor It gives to me. A druid.—a priest.—is the old oak tree Uplifting its arms to Heaven for me. THE HEW BOARDER AT CABRVILLE. A Pretty School Teacher and Learned Professor. BY EDITH FULLERTON SCOTT. “Now sit right down, my dear, do ! You’re all tuckered out with the walk up that hill. I always did say that hills weren’t meant Tor human bein’s to climb ; it’s hard enough work for horses and other dumb critters with four legs to help them. Not but that I’m fond of hills, in away. They’re most refreshin’ to look at—from a distance —and I wouldn’t be hired to live in town where there’s nothin’ to be seen but dusty streets and brick houses, but they certainly are dread ful hard on your back and for takin’ the breath clean out of you there’s nothin’ equal to them. Here, drink this glass of milk —it’s nice and cool and will set you up a bit.” The school teacher “from the city” gratefully accepted the offered bever age and then leaning back in the old fashioned rocker watched her hostess, who went on with the ironing that had been interrupted for a minute by the visitor’s arrival. “Don’t you ever get tired, Mrs. White?” she asked, noting admir ingly the strong muscles of the bared arm as the iron moved swiftly to and fro. “How do you manage to do everything about the house, with no one to help you ? And I should think you would get lonesome, too, with nobody to talk to during the day.” “Law sakes, child, I don’t do half what I did ten years ago. Then, I not only did all the housework, but I helped on the farm, milked the cows, and even tended to my own garden patch. I could do it all now, if ’twern’t for my lame hip, but ever since I fell on the ice and was laid up with a broken bone for nigh on two months —that’s goin’ on nine years ago—l ain’t been quite up to par, and it’s kinder hard for me to get around. As to bein’ lonesome, why I dbn’t have time to think of sech a thing. The only time I ever did feel so, was just after my boy went away to school. His father was a very scholarly sort of man, ought to have been a profes sor instead of a farmer, and before he died he made me promise to send the lad away for his schoolin’. Well, as I was sayin’, just after Teddy went away it seemed as though I couldn’t stand the stillness of the place, and I got to be afraid of my own shadow even. But then, the Deacon, who had lost his woman a while before, come in one night, and he says, says he, ‘Mary Ann’ —I'd known him ever since we was boy and girl together — ‘Mary Ann, you seem dreadful lone some nowadays, and my house is goin’ to rack and ruin, so what d’ye say to jinin’ forces ?’ and then he up and —“Well,” she continued, a faint blush overspreading her wrinkled cheeks, “to cut a long tale short, we was married the next month and for ’most a score of years we've lived happy ever since, as the story books say.” “I didn’t know you had a son,” the school teacher remarked. “He doesn’t live here, does he?” she asked rather hesitatingly, not knowing but that he might now be numbered with the dear departed. “Didn’t you, Miss Thomson? Somehow I thought everybody knew about my boy, for he’s makin’ a name for himself,” Mrs. White answered, her face beaming with motherly pride. “He’s as smart as a whip, and, like his father, dotes on books. In fact, he graduated from college, and is now a professor of somethin’ or other —I never could remember the word, but it ends with ’ology’ —in a large private school in New York. He’s makin’ lots of money and every Christ mas he sends me a hundred dollars, which I always put into the bank for him, though of course he don’t know that’s what becomes of it. The Dea con gives me all I need, and I often think perhaps Teddy’ll be marryin’ some of these fine days, and then he’ll be glad enough to have a tidy little sum to go honsekeepin’ on. Of course he’ll have his father’s farm when I am gone, but that ain’t worth much of anythin’, and all the ready money there was went to pay for his schoolin’ —schoolin’ is terrible expensive—so I feel it’s my duty to look out a mite for his future. He’s a good boy, Teddy is. He never forgets his old mother but comes to see her when ever he gets the chance, and is just as lovin’ as when he was a baby, and that’s sayin’ a great deal. What 1 Must you go?” as Miss Thomson arose. “Well, I’m real glad you stopped in, and you must come again. Oh ! I ’most forgot —the Church Mis sionary Society meets here next Tues day at three o’clock, so won’t you come, too? We always have real nice times, sewin’ and talkin’,.and it would be sort of sociable for you.” The invitation was so heartily given that Miss Thomson gladly accepted it, and then bidding the Deacon’s cheery wife good-bye, proceeded on her homeward way. The school teacher was the one boarder that the village of Carrville could boast of. There was a tradi tion that in days gone by, there had been a small inn where several stran gers could be accommodated, but that happy time was remembered by only the patriarchs, and even the bolstelry itself had vanished, though rumor said that it formerly stood on the site now occupied by the blacksmith’s shop. Consequently, the Carrvillites were electrified when it was known to be a fact that Mrs. Wellwood, a newly-made widow, with a large farm, but little cash, had actually adver tised in a New York paper, and as a result of this daring innovation, one boarder, in the person of an over worked teacher in need of rest and country air, had arrived early in July, and had taken a room for the remain der of the summer. At first some of the inhabitants were disposed to re sent the intrusion of a stranger in their sleepy midst, but the unassum ing manners of the city girl, together with her unfeigned appreciation of any small favors in the shape of occa sional rides, or gifts of flowers which the less prejudiced offered her, soon won over the disaffected part of the community. Their only regret now, was, that they themselves had not the pleasure and distinction of being her host. Exactly at the appointed hour on Tuesday, the members of the Mis sionary Society gathered at the Dea con’s house. They were all busily at work before the honored guest, who did not know that punctuality was considered almost a religious duty by these descendants of the Puritans, came sauntering up the road, looking as fresh and sweet as a dew-moistened rose in her dainty white dress with its pink ribbon bows. She brought the breath of youth with her into the parlor, and her bright smile of greet ing found its reflection in the care worn faces of the entire company, while the stiff horse-hair covered chair on which she presently seated herself seemed less uncompromising than usual, as though it realized that it was adorned by her charms. Pro ducing her thimble from her silken work-bag the girl meekly asked for employment for her idle fingers, and the business-like air with which she at once commenced to sew up the seams of an apron delighted the en thusiastic home missionaries. Wondering at the piles of work, untouched or in various stages of com pletion, Miss Thomson asked for whom the things were intended. ‘‘Well, my dear,” replied her hos tess, who was also chairman of the society, “we believe that charity be gins at home, so instead of sendin’ our barrels of clothin’ to the heathen, we always send them to New York.” “To New York?” echoed Miss Thompson in surprise, for such a pro ceeding seemed to her rather like sending coal to Newcastle. “Yes. You see, my Teddy says there are any number of poor neglect ed children there, who don’t have half enough to wear, so every Thanks givin’ we send all that we have made durin’ the year to a district nurse, who ’tends to distributin’ ’em to those that need warm clothes for the winter.” Judging, and rightly, that “Teddy says,” was considered as final by all Mrs. White’s friends, Miss Thomson discreetly refrained from further com ment on the destination of the arti cles. The afternoon passed rapidly, until at six o’clock, Mrs. White, who had quietly left the room some time before, entered bearing a huge tray on which were set cups of steaming, fra grant coffee, sandwiches, and a couple of loaves of fresh cake. The appear ance of the refreshments was the sig nal for the sewing materials to be put away, and as Margaret Thomson folded up her work, she was surprised to find that she did so with a feeling of regret that the meeting was at an end. She had expected it to prove somewhat of a bore, but she admit ted to herself that she had thoroughly enjoyed talking with the homely far mers’ wives and daughters, who, though not educated in the usual sense of the word, were possessed of a certain shrewd wisdom, quite re freshing in its naturalness to one that had been accustomed to a more learn ed but less open and kindly circle of acquaintances. The young people volunteered their services in handing the plates around while their elders quietly rested from their labors. Margaret was in her element here and the graceful way in which she anticipated everyone’s wants met with the approval of all. An hour later, the guests had depart ed, with the exception of Miss Thom son, who had offered to stay and help with the dishes if the Deacon would escort her home afterward. The last plate had been wiped and put in its place, and the women had just settled themselves for a cosy chat, when the outer door opened un ceremoniously, and in walked a tall man. “Teddy I” cried Mrs. White, de lightedly, springing up, and hurry ing to meet him. “Why, Ted-dy !” She threw her arms around his neck and stood thus for a few moments ut terly oblivious of everything save that her boy had come. But then, recalling herself, she released him from her embrace, saying : “Oh, how rude I’m a-gettin’ in my old age ! Teddy, this is Miss Thom —” but when she turned to look for Miss Thomson, she was no where to be seen. “Miss Thomson !” she called, and on a second summons the girl emerged from the kitchen where she had retreated during the mother’s welcome of her son. “Miss Thomson, this is Teddy,” said Mrs. White proudly, gazing with satisfied maternal eyes in his direc tion, but Margaret astonished her by remarking: “I think we have met before, haven’t we, Mr. Burnham?” ‘‘What! Miss Thomson, you here !” exclaimed Teddy, taking her out stretched hand in his own, and bold ing it a trifle longer than necessary, before he relinquished it. “I cer tainly did not expect to see you to night.” “It is a perfect surprise to me, also,” she replied demurely. “I never dreamed of ‘Teddy’s’ being the savant, Professor Edward Burnham. Your mother, I am sure,” she went on, archly, “has no idea what a dread ful ogre of wisdom you are to your poor trembling pupils.” “Nonsense!” he said, a shade of annoyance in his tone. Then, turn ing to his mother, he explained : “Miss Thomson and I were at Cor nell together. I was in the senior class when she was only a freshman, and on one occasion in the absence of an instructor, I acted as teacher for an hour or so, and that is how I met her.” “Well, that’s real nice; I’m glad you are old friends. And I’m kinder relieved you happened to come to night, for the Deacon has a splitten’ headache, and I was wonderin’ if he’d feel as if he could take Miss Thom son home, but now you’re here, it’ll be all right. She’s boardin’ down to Mrs. Josh Wellwood’s.” “Yes, and I think I would better go now, Mrs. White, and as the Dea con isn’t well, why, Mr. Burnham, if it won’t be too much trouble, I shall be very glad if you will be my escort. I suppose I could go alone, but there have been several tramps in the vicin ity lately, and I don’t relish the pros pect of encountering one.” Teddy did not deign to comment on her last suggestion, but there was a smouldering wrath in his glance as he assisted her on with her jacket. But Margaret was not in the least afraid of him, for it was with a happy little laugh that yielding to a sudden impulse, she kissed Mrs. White good night, and went out into the air with Teddy. The two walked on in silence for a time, but suddenly Mr. Burnham stopped short, saying abruptly : “Margaret, I can’t stand this sus pense. Tell me, why did you run away from me that day, and where have you hidden yourself ever since ? You knew I loved you and I believed you cared for me. I have searched < for you everywhere. Don’t you know 1 it is wrong to trifle with a man’s true ■ love, and why did 3 r ou do it?” The moonlight shone full on his 1 companion’s face, as, with her eyes half hid by the drooping lids, she an- i swered the last question, her lips < quivering as she spoke: “I don’t know.” He heard the words, and saw the ; quiver, and thought that was slight ; encouragement, he cried boldly : “Margaret, you do love me. I i don’t know why you treated me so, but only tell me that you will marry ( me and I will forgive you.” Evidently the answer must have i been satisfactory, for the next day ( Mrs. White and Margaret had a long conversation, at the conclusion of which the former said : i “I’m glad as can be that you’re goin’ to be my darter, and it’s lucky I did save up Teddy’s presents to me, for I know the money will come in handy by and by.” i “I was afraid it would seem rather sudden to you, my dear mother-to-be, but you see, Teddy and I have known each other for five years,” said Mar garet, shyly, “and ” “And you’re to come out for a walk this moment,” interrupted Teddy.— New Orleans Picayune Illustrated Sunday Magazine. SHE DIDN’T BOOBT WITH THE CHICKENS. The homely forms of speech used by the country people with whom little Edith and her mother boarded last summer were frequently very puzzling to the child. One evening the farmer’s wife, in talking for a few minutes with Edith’s mother, remarked that, as she was very tired that night, she believed she would “go to roost with the chick ens.” When Edith’s bedtime arrived a little later the youngster was nowhere to be found. After a considerable search she was discovered sitting on a large stone near the chicken bouse quietly watching the fowls as they came in one by one. “Edith,” called her mother, “what are you doing there? I’ve been look ing for you everywhere. It’s time to go to bed.” “I know, mother,” was the reply, “but they’re nearly all in now, so she’ll be here soon, I guess.” “Who are in and who will be there ? What on earth are you talking about, child ?’ ’ asked the mystified mother. ‘ ‘ What, ’ ’explained Edith rather im patiently, “you know Mrs. said she was going to roost with the chick ens tonight, and I’m waiting to see how she does it.” — N. Y. Times. DID YOU EVER 1 Did you ever meet a man who did not want to talk about himself just when you wanted to talk about your self ? Did you ever want to borrow money when everybody else didn’t seem to be just as bad off as you were ? Did you ever know a woman who thought her husband was the smart est man on earth who wasn’t a happy woman ? Did you ever know a man who was afraid to do his duty whom anybody had any respect for? Did you ever perform a kind action iu your life without feeling better for it ? Did you ever do anything mean without feeling that you bad killed something good in your soul by doing it? Did you ever have anybody tell you an unwelcome truth about yourself without hating them for it? Did you ever make a dollar in the devil’s way without having to pay a dear price for it? — Ram's Horn. “That girl,” said the country post mistress, “is carrying on a secret cor respondence with some young fel low.” “How do you know?” asked the storekeeper. “She never uses postal cards any more.” Everybody knows how every body else ought to do things. THE PARCELS POST. The New York Independent says : “The American people need a parcels post; the American people demand a parcels post; the American people will certainly have a parcels post. The matter has been talked over long enough ; what we must now have is mere action. The coming session of Congress cannot safely avoid bringing this matter to conclusion. There is no reason why our nation should re main in the rear of all civilized peo ples on this and similar affairs. Our present mail accomodations are simply arranged to debar us frogi any privi leges not extended to us by express companies. While the stock of com mon carriers was trembling below par, that of the Adams Express Company remaned at 165 and that of the Amer ican Express Company at 175 —above the conditions and contingencies of a financial crisis. This is precisely as we wish it might be, and hope that it always may be, but we see no rea son why these powerful companies shall foriid us those advantages which will rapilly develop trade, to their, advantage as well as that of the peo ple. “It is thttrue policy of the party in control av Washington, as it is of all parties, t inaugurate a construe tive program. It is in danger with the people betause it has stood simply for an overhauling of old and abused privileges. Piblic attention should now be drawn b and centered upon, not only correctives in the way of law suits, fines and imprisonments, but also upon plans of development and measures of a progressive character. Our post office is emphatically the property of the people. It alone en abled us to become a united nation, from the Atlantic to ihe Pacific. It brought about intercommunication, that underlies all commerce, as well as manufactures, while a large share of our productive industries as surely depend upon this marvelous machine for abolishing time and space. It has already done what cannot be es timated in thought and in words. It has done its best as a carrier of thought and purpose; it must be allowed to do a great deal better as a carrier of things. “The economic advantage to the people will be annually tens of mil lions. The British post office carries parcels not to exceed 11 pounds and not more than 3 feet 6 inches in length ; but in the United States we are limited to parcels not exceeding 4 pounds in weight. The English parcel of 11 pounds is carried for 22 cents but in this country the 11 pounds must be subdivided into three smaller parcels, and these will cost eight times as much, or $1.76. Registration ser vice, carrying as high as 2,000, is in England secured for a fee from 4 cents to 44. The German parcels post car ries at even lower rates, for the charge on a 12 pound parcel is only one fourteenth what it is in the United States. The charge on a parcel sent from Chicago to Liverpool is one fifth only of that which must be paid on a similar parcel sent from Chicago to St Louis or from Chicago to Mil waukee. “To pay 64 cents on a 4-pound package is practically prohibitive, and it seems to have been so intended. The law was arranged, unqualifiedly, in the interests of corporations and not of the people. It was an annonne ment on the part of the Government that we do not intend to carry parcels if we can help it. We have so far been in this sort of business, with the sign out that we do not like it, and that we shall do only what public sen timent forces us to do. That public sentiment is more pronounced on this subject we are certain, and we are quite sure that the American people will demand reform. “As excuses we have heard that a parcels post would burden the mail service. The answer is if it pays there is no burden. In Great Britain and Germany it does pay. It facili tates the trade of small country stores. It brings the people closer together in their everyday financial affairs, as the ordinary mail brings them together in matters intelectual. In our vast country this matter is becoming of vi tal importance. The apple orchard of the Maine farmer is a distinct part with the olive orchard of the Califor nia producer. Migratory farming finds the same man planting corn in Minnesota in summer and cassava in in January. We cannot afford to have our lives and our work less close ly united than steam and electricity make possible. ‘ ‘The question is coming before the next Congress with a most decided conviction and sentiment behind it. The common folk will constitute a uni versal lobby, and will make their in fluence felt. Set it down to Theodore Roosevelt that the overweening voice of an interested lobby has lost its ab solutism. The people can be heard far more distinctly than they could be ten years ago. But behind this move ment for postal progress will be an efficient Postmaster-General, a man of business methods, as well as fore sight. His predecessors have paved the way, but they have not been able to secure the passage of a parcels post bill. With Mr. Meyer, we imagine, will stand the better class of Congress men, and with the press, we prognos ticate for him success. The United States cannot afford any longer to re main in the rear of civilized peoples. The bill must pass. We must and we will have a Parcels Post up-to-date, and based on the economics of the twentieth century.” “I havbn’t got any case,” said the client, “but I have money." “How much?” asked the lawyer. “Ten thousand pounds,” was the reply. “Phew 1 You have the best case I ever beard of. I’ll see that yon never go to prison with that sum,” said the lawyer, cheerfully. And he didn’t —he went there “broke.” HER ORE FAULT. Lucy Peters went to school with the determination to make herself beloved by all her schoolmates and teachers. Why should she not suc ceed ? She looked in the glass and saw a bright, sparkling faced girl, with a neat figure and quick, grace ful motions. She knew that she was intelligent and good tempered ; she was confident that her judgment was better than that of most of her com panions. Why should she not be come a favorite and leader among them ? When she entered the class room for the first time her eyes passed over her comrades with a friendly but keen scrutiny. “How that girl dawdles over her desk I She has never learned how to study; I must show her. Curls do not become that girl’s face ; when I know her I shall advise her to wear her hair plain.” At the end of three years Lucy Peters returned home. Her father came for her. He listened to the re port of her progress which the princi pal laid before him. “Your daugh ter has studied faithfully. She bad stood usually at the head of her class, ’ ’ she said coldly. “She is a girl of high principles.” “You have found her affectionate and eager to please?” said Mr. Peters anxiously. “Yes.” But the praise was cold and the teacher was apparently well pleased to take leave of her admirable pupil. Mr. Peters observed, too, that her schoolmates showed no grief at part ing with Lucy. “Have you no intimate friend whom you would like to visit ?” he asked. * ‘These girls seem to be fond of each other.” “They are not fond of me,” said Lucy, sadly. Her home was in California. She had not seen it for three years. Her mother and the children received her with joy and warm affection ; but be fore the end of the first week the household was in a state of insurrec tion. The oldest boy loudly com plained to his mother: “Sister Lucy won’t let me alone. She says my cravats are ugly and she don’t want me to wear them ; she calls my friend Jim vulgar and insul ted him, aud she is lecturing me all day long.” The maids soon began to complain. “Miss Lucy found fault with every thing that was done. They would not stay to be bossed by her,” and so it was all through the household. Her husband was triumphant in the treasure he had won. “Poor fellow !” said her father, as they started away. “Lucy has but the one fault, but how many women make wretched households with that one.” — Youth's Companion. TRIFLE EXTRACT. Flowers that are to be used in the manufacture of perfumes are always gathered at nightfall or quite early in the morning, when the dew is upon them. Before they are gathered, however, receptacles are prepared for them in the shape of large frames, over which are stretched cotton cloths well saturated with olive oil or almond oil. The cut flowers are brought in and are thickly spread on a frame. Then another frame is fit ted over it, and that in turn is well spread with flowers. Then a third frame is fitted over the second spread of flowers, and thus the work goes on until a huge pile of flowers is pre pared. This flower heap is left for two days, at the end of which time the flowers are removed from the frames and replaced by fresh ones. The frames are filled and emptied every two days until two weeks have passed. Then the cloths are detached from the frames and placed under great pressure, and all the oil is pressed out ; of them. The oil thus obtained is heavily charged with the fragrance of the flowers, and it is mixed with double its weight of very pure recti fied spirit and put in a vessel called a “digester,” which is simply a porce lain or block tin kettle that fits in another kettle. When in use the outer vessel is filled with boiling water. In this vessel the mixture of oil and spirits “digests” for three or four days. Then, after having cooled, the 1 spirit is decanted into another vessel, 1 holding the same quantity of fragrant ' oil, and the digesting process is re peated. After being thus digested three times the spirit is found to have taken up enough of the perfume, and • it is then decanted from the oil for the third and last time through a tube, one end of which is filled with cotton wool to serve as a filter. The fluid thus prepared is called “triple extract.” A STREET IECIDEET. Despite the four inch sole of his : left boot the man limped. “Shine, boss?” 1 “He looked at his feet. Yes, he needed a shine. And, leaning against a lamp post, he put first one foot and 1 then the other on the little arab’s box all glittering with bright brass nails, t “How much?” he said at the end. • “A nickle, boss.” But the cripple tapped with his um brella the thick side of his left boot, l and, smiling awkwardly, he said in a constrained voice: • “But you ought to charge extra 5 for a thing like that.” > The boy, without looking up, an : swered in a low tone : “No, a nickle’s enough. I don’t want to make no money out of your hard luck.” — New Orleans Times - Democrat. : Hicks— “ Talk about Friday being an unlucky day ! George Washington ; was born on Friday; the Declaration 1 of Independence was signed on Friday; ’ and the battle of Bunker Hill was fought on Friday.” Wicks —“Well : all that was unlucky for the British, wasn’t it?” THE HAH FROM KENTUCKY. My reference to a recent achieve ment of Soledad having suggested the turf to the agile mind of Mr. Milo 1 Bush, he immediately launched into the following story, which, from the impressive manner of its delivery, he ' seemed to think, possessed of edifying and perhaps of educational qualities. “You’ve heard of Ajax, the cele brated Kentucky runner, of course,” he said. “I once owned a son of his. I called him Bjax. Fastest hoss ever brought to the Territory. Too fast. ' It would ’a’ been money in my pocket if he’d had only had three legs. Where ’ I made my mistake was in not keeping a ball and chain fastened to one foot. Ought to ’a’ kept him hobbled. I bought that hoss Bjax with my hard earnings,” he continued, looking off sadly, oblivious of the notorious fact that he had never done a day’s work in his life. “Bought him with money which I had saved. Money | which I had laid up again the time : when I should be old and unable to work. But it all went, and it has staid went, and the hour when I should rest is come, but there is no rest for me. Sometimes, when I’m 1 alone I say to myself, firm, just like ' this : ‘Keep still, sad heart!’ “Well, I bought this Bjax just to show the boys. They thought they had hosses that could run, but I want ed to show them that their hosses was j really stationary hosses, rooted down to the spot. I says to ’em, ‘I am sending for a movable hoss —a self- ‘ propelling hoss—a hoss that goes alone ' —not a animal that has to be warped along with a housemoving windlass, 1 and men putting their shoulders to J him and pushing behind.’ It took ' all my savings—the savings of forty \ years of toil—but I got the hoss. “It was a proud day for me when ' that hoss come. I took him right j over to the track, and I showed ’em that I was right. Bjax was fast. He J beat every hoss in town. A great igee struck me —to take him around on the fall racing circuit, and make ' some money and get back my savings. ' I knew there was nothing in the Ter ritory could keep up with him. My ‘ heart beat gayly. Says I, ‘Old man, ' Fortune is at your door, a taking off her gum shoes and preparing to stay. ’ * “I had just said this, and also, ‘Tell me not in mournful slumbers, life is but an empty dream,’ when up steps a well-dressed young man, and ] says he, ‘Sah,’ says he, just like that ' —‘sah, may I have the privilege of 1 admiring your hoss?’ ‘Wade in, stranger,’ says I. He looks over 1 Bjax, his eyes getting soft and tender, and then I’ll be snaked if he didn’t bust right out crying. Then he wipes 1 his eyes, and says he: ‘Sah, do not laugh at these tears. Them tears come from the heart. lam touched,’ and he begins to sniffle again. ‘I know how it is,’ says I, swallering a great lump in my throat. ‘Manly tears like those are all O. K. You are touched. Lay right down on the ground, young man, and have it out.’ ‘No, no,’ says he ; ‘it is past. The storm is over. My heart was full, and she overflowed —that was all. Sah, I am a Kentuckian !’ ‘l’m sor ry it is so small,’ says I, pulling out my pint flask, ‘but you’re wel come. Finish it up, and I’ll send for some more.’ ‘No, no,’ says he; not at present. My emotions even now threaten to overmaster me. Let me simply admire your hoss—your Kentucky hoss. An exile from home, cut off from ancestral halls, this is the first Kentucky hoss I’ve seen for five years. Sah, lam touched.’ “Well, I told him to go ahead and admire till he thought he’d got enough, and he thanked me, and kept walking round Bjax, and feeling of him, and patting him, and all the time a-saying he was touched. Then he says: ‘Sah would you mind if I mounted your hoss for one turn around the track ? Riding was for merly my delight. Fox hunting was my favorite sport. Will them happy days ever come again ? Sah, I have not been so touched since a crool, mistaken fater druv me from his door.’ ‘Hopon,’saysl. ‘Hopright on.’ And he done so, and pranced round me once or twice, and then galloped off, easy like, down the track; and when he got to the first quarter, he turned round in the saddle, grace fhl, and waived his hand and thew me a kiss, at the same time lifting the hoss right over the fence, and starting off across the prairie like a bloo streak, and me yelling bloody murder for help. Well, every man that had a hoss started after him, with me follow ing along on foot, still yelling in a general way ; but they might as well as chased a zigzag of chain lightning going end over end. They lost sight of the fellow and Bjax in twenty min utes. Then they came back. I was laying on my back on the prairie, my jaws still moving faintly, but little er no yell coming forth. ‘Old man,’ says somebody, ‘wot’s the matter?’ ‘I am touched,’ says I.” — Hayden Carruth in Harper's Magazine. CHARACTERISTICS OF GREAT MEN. “So far as I have encountered them,” said a citizen of the world, “a characteristic of great men is that they have time. They are not in a hurry ; their work doesn’t boss them, but they boss their work. They don’t act as if every minute you stayed was valuable time lost to them ; they don’t fret aud fidget. What time they do devote to you appears to be time that they can spare, and take things easy in, and be comforta ble. The work seems to be inciden tal, and it seems as though they could turn to it when the time came and get through it with ease; and they al ways seem, besides, to have strength in re serve. It is a characteristic of the great man that he has time.”— New York Sun. Doubtless the way of the trans gressor may be hard, but the people who travel thereon have no time to get lonesome. WHO IS THE WORLD’B RICHEST BABY! Which is the richest baby in the world? It is hard to tell. Every once in a while somebody discovers the wealthiest child in the universe, but is always a different one. Away off in London there is a baby that is the granddaughter of a mao worth over $100,000,000, who was born in America. It is a two-year-old daugh ter of Captain and Mrs. Spencer Clay, Mrs. Clay being the daughter of Wil liam Waldorf Astor. Mrs. Clay was one of the important members of New York society as Mrs. Pauline Astor. She began her married life with a million dollars a year income to spend in luxurious smartness. With the coming of little Pauline Mrs Clay has been seen but little in society, prefer ring to be within call of her baby. ~ Little six year old Elizabeth Hubbard, who is the richest little miss in Cali fornia, is the daughter of the man who discovered copper in Alaska. WUTie she and her mother live in San Diego, where it is warm and beautiful all through the year, her father, Charles G. Hubbard, with his partner, H. C. Elliott, of Chicago, is blocking out great fields and mines of copper in the cold country of Alaska, building the fortune that is to be the little daugh ter’s. Twice a year “Daddy” comes home, and that is a great time for Elizabeth. With six months happen ings on her mind “Daddy” has much to hear. William Astor Chanler, the direct descendant of John Astor, is the father of a two-year-old son who will be heir to the entire Astor fortune. There is another little New York miss Kather ine Duer Mackay, the child of Mr. and Mrs. Clarence Hungerford Mac kay, who is the heiress to more than $50,000,000. This baby is four years old. Each birthday her father and mother have given her a pearl worth from $15,000 to $20,000. They pro pose to continue this custom until their daughter is old enough to be in troduced to society, when she will wear a string of pearls worth possibly $200,000. Jewelry is Mrs. Mackay’s fad. The baby has an auto of her own that cost SIB,OOO. Little three year-old Kathleen Vanderbilt, daugh ter of “Reggie” Vanderbilt, is anoth er child that is heir to millions. FALLIHG OF "the LEAVES. When the storm clouds gather be hind the brown autumnal woods and cold winds begin to blow, then the bright leaves come drifting down in fluttering, fast thickening showers until it almost seems as if the wind were the active agent and actually tore the leaves from the trees. This, of course, is not the case. The leaf fall only becomes possible after a long preparation on the part of the tree, which forms a peculiar layer of cells in each leaf stem called the cleavage** plate. This cleavage plate, or separation layer, consists of a section of loosely attached thin walled cells with a few strands of stronger woody fiber in among them, so, in the early autumn, although the leaves appear as firmly attached as ever before, they are real ly only on the tree by these few woody strands and the outer brittle skin or epidermis of the stem. Now only a slight shock or wind flurry is sufficient to break the fragile support and bring the leaves in showers to the ground. We may see these woody strands broken through in the leaf scar of the horse chestnut, where they appear as little rounded projections on the bro ken surface and are often spoken of from their fancied resemblance to the nails of a horse shoe. The hickory and ash among other trees have similar markings on their leaf scars and from the same cause. On the root of the sarsaparilla, which projects just above the ground, a litre series of little pro jections will be seen upon the ringlike scar which surrounds the bud where the leaf stalk has just separated. Often the leaves separate and fall even on the quietest days, for .their own weight is sufficient to break the frail support. These hushed and su premely tranquil days we all remem ber, when our October walks are ac companied by the soft, small sounds of falling leaves, by the rustlings and dry whisperings of their showering multitudes. — St. Nicholas. COWS LOVE EACH OTHER. “Do cows love home?” istheques tion asked by Prof. Gowell in the New England Farmer. His reply to the question is as follows: “One of the meanest acts of my life, the one I would give most to forget, was the selling of an old cow that I had raised from calfbood. Every time she could break away from her new home she would come back to us, sometimes through the rough storms of winter, because she was homesick. Were you ever homesick?” In reply to the question, “Do cows love each other?” he says; “We have a four-year-old Shorthorn, a great, luscious, handsome roan ; and another,- one of the most beautiful five-year-old Guernseys that I know of, that was bred in York county. They were brought home at differ ent times. Those two animals, that are so much unlike in everything ex cept beauty, express strong friend ship for each other, and whenever in the loose herd with forty others, in yard or pasture, they are constantly together, frequently expressing them selves in exchanging laps of love, true cow language.” A teacher who asked a girl to purchase a grammar received the fol lowing note from the little girl’s mother. “I do not desire that Matty ingage in grammar, and I prefer her to ingage in more useful studies, and can learn her to write and speak proper myself. I went throgh two grammars and can’t say as they did me no good. I prefer Matty to ingage in German and drawing and vokal music on the piano.” Even respectable people, like good weather, are often talked about.