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VOL. 60. WHOLE No. 2297.
: £*TRUE PROSPERITY^ J TRUE PROSPERITY is not attained by spending all the money one earns, < ! < | but by saving as much of it as possible. < * i ’ The men who DO things today are not those who spent their money as fast ( > * > as they got It, but those who saved from time to time, until they had sufficient < | i 1 means with which to go ahead and accomplish some purpose. J > ' * Are TOC saving today what you do not need ? ] | 1 We can help you save, and will add each year something to your savings, J > ( | according to the amounts yon have had on deposit with ns In our Savings De- , J j > partment during the year. ' > ! > Any boy, girl, man or woman can begin now to put aside a part, if not all, < ( < | of his or her income, and when the opportunity arrives be prepared to invest J ► * i same In a good paying proposition. < , ] > This Is real prosperity. ] < J Join the prosperous band today by opening an account with us NOW. < | < I Interest paid on savings accounts. < , i;The Towson National Bank,!; 1; TOWSON, Md. 3; <\ JOHN CROWTHER, DUANE H. RICE, W. C. CRAUMER, President. Vice-President. Cashier. 3 j < | , Second National Bank TOWSON, Md. LEX US SERVE YOU. Financial success In life is greatly aided by good business associations. One of the first requisites is a deposit account with a strong, live, up-to-date bank, Xhls gives you standing in your community and will be found a great convenience. Some day you may need Just such assistance as your bank ean render. If you are a depositor with the Second National Bank of Towson you can rest as sured of friendly consideration at all times. For our Directors and Officials are progressive, influential business men of our com munity, closely In touch with all our business Interests, and able and willing to afford their patrons every accommodation possible with safe banking. We solicit vour banking business. let us serve you. -lOPPIOBBSI THOMAB W. OFFUTT, ELMER J. COOK, l VICE-PREBIDENTB. THOB. J. MEADS, President. Harrison Rider, > Cashier. THOMAB W. OFFUTT. W. BERNARD DUKE, HENRY C. LONQNECKER, ELMER J. COOK, WM. A. LEE, Z. HOWARD IBAAO, HARRISON Rider, Chas. H. Knox, Noah E. Offutt. JOHN I. YELLOTT. w. GILL SMITH, JOHN V. SLADE. Jan. 25—ly. THE COMMERCIAL BANK OF MARYLAND BELVEDERE AVENUE, Hear Reisterstown Road, ARLINGTON, Md. , , 0— — CAPITAL STOCK, $25,000. „ , ~.,0 a IN'O'W OPEN FOR ZBTTSXIN"IEISS. . . ■ o— —* Does a general Banking Business in all that is consistent with safe and careful man agement. The location of our Bank makes it the most eonvenient place for a large number of residents of Baltimore county to transact their financial business. During the short time oar Bank has been open for business the.amount of deposits has reached a success far In excess of our expectations. We have a SAVINGS DEPARTMENT and pay lnterest;on money deposited there. Call and see ns and we will explain why It will be to yonr advantage to open an account with ns. Prompt attention given to all collection business entrusted to ns. . 0 a —: OFFICERS: — CHAS. T. COCKEV, Jr., JOHN K. COLTER, Ist Vice-President. CHARLES E. SMITH, President. HOWARD E. JACKSON, 2d Vice-President. Cashier. :DIRECTORS: CHARLES T. COCKEV, J*., HOWARD E. JACKBON, ROBERT H McMANNS, ARTHUR F. NICHOLSON, J. B. WAILES, MAX ROSEN, JOHN K. CULVER, GEORGE W. ALT, H. D. HAMMOND, J. FRANK SHIPLEY, H. D. EASTMAN. Dec. 86-ly yixUßicians and ientists. jyTXcjlicciißßi, BURQEojT"3ENTIBT, TOWSON, Md. Ex-President State Board Dental Bxamlners. CROWNS, BRIDGRS AND PORCELAIN FILLINGS. Offioi Hours j J M- Office Call—C. AP. ’Phone, Towson 182 R. Dec. s—ly H. 8. JARKETT, Office with his father (Dr. J. H. Jarrett), Wash ington Avenue, near Allegany Avenue, TOWSON, Md. Special attention to catarrh of nose and throat. Office Hours—B to 10 A. M.; 6toß p. m. C. A P. Phone—Towson 817. rOct.lOtJuned DR. b. C. MASSENBCRG, —OFFICE— AT DRUG STORE OF MASBENBUBO A SON, Odd Pillows’ Haul, Towson, Md C. A P. Phone, Towson 342. Residence—W. Pennsylvania Avenue, near Postofflce. Night bell and C. A P. Phone, Towson 161. Mch.l6—lv £JR. J. ROYSTON GREEN, NORTH BALTIMORE AVENUE, Near Tribity Church, TOWSON. Md Office Hours—B to 10 A.M., and 6toß P. M. C. A P. Telephone. July 18—ly BARGAINS BARGAINS BARGAINS REMOVAL SALE I FnrDitnre Jarpets, &t Will vacate mv present store January Ist, 1908. Before removing I will Sell fly Entire Stock Below Cost. Furniture, Oarpets, Stoves, Oilcloth, Mattings and General House Furnishings. If You Want Bargains Call and See Me W. P. COLLINS, 837 Creenmount Ave., Baltimore. IBf-Goods Delivered. [Dec. 28—flt jgOSLET A DOLLENBERG, Surveyors & Civil Engineers, Office—PlPEß BUILDING, TOWBON, MD. BWC. A P. Phone—Towson, 78 F. P. D. DOLLENBERG, Jr., County Surveyor. Feb.22—ly t PIANOS tuned In Any Part of the County. Address, JOSEPH A. NEUMAYER, Raspeburg, R. F. D., Md. C. A P. Tel.—Hamilton 1-k. [Sept. 86—ly S&isceXXanocms. Muller & Yearley, HARNESS, TRUNKS Ml BANS, 343 N. Gay Street, BALTIMORE. Md. Blankets and Robes. In addition to Regular Line we offer BIG LINE OF MILL SAMPLES AT BARQAIN PRICES. Blankets From SI.OO up. Lap Robes “ $2.00 “ swlt will pay you to see them. Special Induce ments to early buyers. FREE good lEKe™ each free Oct.lotMay3o WM. J. BIDDISON, FIRE INSURANCE AGENT Fire, Tornado and Windstorm Poli cies Jssued. INTO ASSESSMEUT. —RXPRCSKNTINO— HOME FIRE INSURANCE CO. OF N. Y* Asset* $20,000,000.00: GIRABD FIRE A MARINE INSURANCE CO. OF PHILA., Assets $2,141,263.79. Office—Belalr Road and Maple Avenue. Raspeburg P. 0., Baltimore County, Md. C. A P. and Maryland Phones. VA share of patronage will be appreciated. Jan. 2—ly Flowers, Plaits, Ac. FOR WEDDINGS AND FUNERALS, AT REASONABLE RATES. Special Attention Given to Ornamental Gardening. JOHN L. WAGNER, Florist, W. JOPPA KOAD, TOWSON, Md. C. A P. Pbone—Towson 8-F. [Nov. 21—ly WASH YOUR OWN WINDOWS. A certain woman of censorious mind. To criticise her neighbors was inclined ; Their dingy houses with discolored paint And dirty windows, were her chief complaint. Her righteous soul became at length so vexed. She called her pastor. Rev. Take-a-text, Told him her trouble, and besought advice; The wise old doctor answered la a trice: “Get soap and water and remove the stains. And dirt and fly-specks from your window panes.” The woman did so, and, to her surprise. Seemed to be looking out of other eyes; Her neighbors’ houses, now no longer seen Through dirty windows, all were white and clean. The moral of this story seems to be: Who looks through dirty windows, dirt will see; Wash your own glass and then, as like as not, Your neighbors’ window panes will have no spot; Extract the beam before you vainly try To take the mote from out a brother’s eye ? —Vharlet D. Crane. A BULL Asd”a BEE TBEE. BY CHARLES T. WHITE. That night when we began milking the cows at Grandfather Holbrook’s, which was generally about six o’clock, the latter sent Ike Martin, the hired boy, to drive back Squire Newton’s big black bull which had broken over into our pasture during the day, and now followed our cattle into the barn yard. The yard was fenced pretty strongly, for the cattle were left here through the night, but the bull came crashing back through a splintered length of stout boards before we had done milking. Grandfather jumped up from his cow and went after the intruder, grabbing the first offensive weapon which came to his hand. “Get out of here, you brute !” he shouted. “G’long with you. Now, see if you can stay out.” This demonstration furnished some secret amusement to Isaac and myself, for grandfather was commonly a very quiet man and rarely spoke to an ani mal on bis farm louder than to a per* son. The reckless smashing of the fence bad excited him a little, and he sent me to the barn as soon as I had finished my cow, to fetch a board or two and a few nails to make repairs. The chores were all finished, and we were sitting on the front porch, when a number of small boys, trudg ing up the road, attracted my atten tion, and I spoke of it. “I guess it’s the Calder youngsters coming after the ball,” Ike conjec tured, without much show of interest. “They have picked up three or four more on the road down here.” Grandfather looked up from his paper at this and took off his specta cles to survey the juvenile corps ap proaching. “The Squire ought to know better than to send such boys after a big brute like that, ”he observed,severely. “It isn’t safe.” “There’s no fight in that fellow,” Ike chuckled, perhaps recalling grand father’s pursuit with the milking stool. ‘ ’He’d run if you shook a rye straw at him.” ‘ ‘You can’t always tell about that, ’ ’ grandfather objected, mildly. “I made the best speed I ever made in my life, I guess, not more than three feet ahead of a sleepy old fellow that a couple of little girls had been driving up from the pasture for three seasons. If there had not been a good high stone wall handy, I’m afraid —” “Tell us about it,” I interrupted, more eagerly than politely; but grand father shook his head smiling. “That would be a simple matter, for there isn’t much of a story, but I think you or Isaac had better go with the boys and see that the bars are put up properly. We don’t want to find the cattle in the corn when we get up in the morning. There’ll be little enough of it as it is.” “Here’s the boy’s brigade, Mr. Holbrook,” Ike called out teasingly, as the six urchins came within hear ing distance. “Say, you fellows, don’t the whole lot of you go into the pasture field at once, or you’ll scare that bull into fits. Break it to him easy, or you won’t see his heels for dust in a week. He hain’t done nothin’ to have the whole infant class after him that way.” We all joined in the laugh which followed this sally. Six grins dis torted six boyish faces below, ex pressing good nature rather than ac tual enjoyment. “One of the boys will go over with you and help get him started,” grand father assured them in a kindly tone, and we were both on our feet ready for prompt compliance. “Keep him moving, and then you won’t have any trouble.” Both Ike and myself accompanied the boys to the pasture. It was well past sunset and just beginning to grow a little dusk. The cattle were in the milking-yard just as we left them, but the bull was nowhere to be seen. He had evidently taken grand father seriously and desisted from further depredations on the fence. * ‘ I guess he must have gone home, ’ ’ Ike declared, after we had beaten about a little in the bushes along the brook. “He likely got wind of you fellows cornin’ and lit out. And I don’t blame him a bit, either.” The two Calder boys, perhaps eleven and thirteen years old, looked relieved at this suggestion. They lived in the city and, with their mother, spent several weeks every summer at their grandfather’s farm. The other young sters averaged about the same age. There were the three Pettison boys and Leroy Bailey. “There he goes !” I shouted, point ing lengthways of the long pasture. “See?” I could not see very well myself, for it was growing quite dark, but a slowly-moving black bulk stood out with tolerable distinctness on the green hill-slope. “You follow him up, now, and jump him over the fence, and he’ll never try coming back —don’t you think it.” I tried to imitate Ike’s facetiousness, hut it was a dismal failure. The boys were already holding a conference. There was not much speech-making ; they communicated with each other, so far as I observed, mainly by nods and shakings of heads and sundry admonitory nudges with elbows. They were evidently urging one of their number to do something which he, in turn, wanted to shift upon somebody else. The upshot of the matter was that Davie Calder, as TOWSON, MD., SATURDAY, JANUARY 16, 1909. the party chiefly interested, asked Ike and me to accompany them in their pursuit of the bull. In my opinion the darkening stretch of pasture, bor dered by woodland on the left, had more terror for them than the animal they were looking for. Ike,however, pretended to think otherwise. “What! Go after that wild, raven ing creature without a gun and a meat-ax ! Well, I guess not. You’d just enjoy seeing your uncle Ikey killed dead and chopped up into little pieces, wouldn’t you ? No, thank you kindly.” Ike consumed several minutes in this banter, the boys stepping around uneasily, hardly knowing how to take him. It ended by all of us starting off at a brisk pace for the far end of the pasture, Ike keeping to the rear, still pretending to be dreadfully afraid of the bull. “Won’t you please bring that little hickory tree along with you, Davie ?” he said to the eldest Calder boy, “so’s I’ll have someting to climb, if that brute takes after me. Throw it right over your shoulder, that’s a man.” As the tree was six or seven inches through at the base of the trunk, it is needless to say that the modest re quest was not complied with. The lads were beginning to enter into the spirit of the joking, and made the fields ring with their shouts and laughter. At the brow of the hill, just where it broke into a gentle upward slope toward Squire Newton’s line fence, we came up with the bull. If we had driven him on quietly all would have been well, but the youngsters were in high glee by this time, and rushed forward with a volley of shouts which would have put an Apache war party to the blush, turning to point appre ciative fingers at Ike, who was going through a series of antics intended to express the extremes of terror and distress. The bull started up at double-quick—who wouldn’t?—but halted midway on the slope, turning his great head inquiringly, and emit ting a low bellow. I confess that I felt some slight ap prehension at this juncture, recalling Grandfather Holbrook’s recent words of caution, but I had taken too active a part in the chaffing of the younger boys to show the white feather now. They, bending double with laughter at Ike’s caricature of the coward, dashed in a body after the reluctant animal in front, swinging hats, fling ing stones, doing almost everything, in fact, which could enter into the heads of a pack of crazy urchins at short notice. You may attribute this to my growing fears, if you like, but I prefer to think that my years—six teen of them —had given me superior judgment. The bull wheeled squarely round and faced his valorous pursuers. Frankness forces me to admit that His appearance was not wholly to my liking, and that I shifted my position several steps out of line with those outstanding aggressive horns. I shouted a warning, too, though how I worded it lam unable to say. The boys seemed to take in the situation slowly. They stood their ground, but the laughter died out. Ike ap peared wholly oblivious, standing sidewise, hands on hips, in the atti tude of one prepared for instant flight. Suddenly, with a single fierce, sharp bellow, the animal charged down the hillside. Ike’s was the one cringing figure stimulating fear, and he made it his target, leaving the group of now thoroughly terrified youngsters on the right by a narrow margin of three or four feet. To this day, it seems to me that Ike never moved a muscle until the beast was upon him, but he made up for all delinquencies afterwards. Had he been shot out of a catapult, he could hardly have out distanced that first tremendous leap, which to my excited eyes seemed tc put the pursuer at least twenty yards in the rear. The great wonder was that he did not lose his footing on the dry, slippery grass, but he was up and away again the very instant his feet touched the ground. I was not in a frame of mind to institute com parisons then, but as I think of it now, I can compare his progress to nothing so aptly as the successive re bounds of a particularly elastic rub ber ball. That brought him to the foot of the slope, and, from that, along the broken level to the border ing woods, I could see nothing but a confused dingy spot —Ike’s hickory skirt and brown overalls—forging ahead at a speed which I never saw equaled in any race before or since. If the Olympic games had been re vived at the time, and Ike had been on the ground, with Squire Newton’s black bull at close quarters behind, I feel sure that no other champion, Greek or barbarian, would have stood the shadow of a chance. I never suspected before that he could run; indeed, I doubt whether he suspected it himself, but he did. The waning light and his rapid movements com bined to give him the grotesque ap pearance of a body bowling along without legs, and, under other cir cumstances, the spectacle would have been laughable in the extreme. As it was nobody felt inclined to laugh. We followed silently in the wake of the pursuer and the pursued, as soon as we had recovered our scat tered wits sufficiently to do anything. Ike held his distance well, until he disappeared under cover of the trees. I drew a long breath of relief. A bull, even though infuriated, cannot climb a tree, and an active boy of Ike’s agility could certainly be de pended upon to do so. By com mon instinct, we all slackened our pace, thinking, I suppose, what to do next. On this score, however, Ike did not leave us long in uncertainty. He set up a furious shouting before we came up to the scraggy old beeches. “Here, you fellows, come drive *im off qui-ick !” The last syllable soared into a scream of pain or fright. “Hurry up ! Ow I Ow 1 Ow ! Come on, co—ow ! Come ’long qui-ick 1” That is how it sounded to me, and, i needless to say, I was alarmed. What - was Ito infer but that the bull had i overtaken Ike, and that he was in the ■ very act of transfixing him with those [ spear-like horns or trampling the life I out of him under those merciless hoofs? lam glad to say that I rush ed to the rescue without an instant’s hesitation, though it would be diffi . cult to explain what I expected to ac complish with my empty hands, for I had no sort of weapon, not even a : stick or a stone. I think the other boys must have followed my move ments pretty closely, but I was too much excited to take particular no tice. Ike, meanwhile, kept up bis distressing cries for help. They seem ed to come from overhead, as we ap proached the place. An instant later a mighty roar filled the woods. This is no fanciful ex aggeration. I was not quite myself, I admit, but I can vouch for the fact that no such sound ever reached my ear either before nor since. It brought me to a halt, it lifted every individual hair on my closely-cropped head on end; it would have sent me scuttling away as fast as my legs could cariy me had not its wierd mystery speedily resolved itself. A great, dark object, looking as large as an elephant, shot past me, plowing a noisy furrow through the dense underbrush, and giving vent to another of those un earthly bellows as it disappeared. The youngsters scattered, screaming. I am not sure but I did something of that kind myself. On that supposi tion, let me say that no words can convey to the reader any adequate idea of the provocation. I feel sure that no person, under the circum stances, would have ever thought of associating that hideous, hair-raising sound with the hitherto mild-man nered brute which had grazed for three summers in Squire Newton’s pasture. “Run! Run! you fellows!” Ike had tumbled down among us from somewhere. So far as we could make out, he appeared to be trying to fol low his own advice, using his head for the purpose quite as much as his feet. “Look out there. Hi! Ow! Run, I tell you! That old tree’s chuck full of bees!” I had a reminder of the fact just then. It was pointed rather than gentle. One of the little fellows gave a scream. Ike was flopping about like a decapitated fowl, then, of a sudden, disappeared in the darkling undergrowth. We followed by a common impulse. For a moment we had forgotten the bull. A distant bellow reassured us. Evidently he had important business of his own to attend to. The flight ended at the lower cor ner Qf the pasture, next to the rnilk lng-yard. Ike bad shaken off the last of the bees, but he acted dazed and bewildered, and we had to help him get to the house. His face and head were a sight to see, both eyes closed, and his nose and cheeks swol len to enormous proportions. The boys were so timid and nervous after their stirring experience that Grand father Holbrook walked home with them. I did not volunteer for the neighborly service, though grand father looked at me pretty hard before offering to go himself. I don’t think that anything short of a case of life and death could have tempted me outside the door again that night. He went up to the woodlot one afternoon and located the bee-tree without much difficulty. It was a knotty, old beech, with low branches and an enormous girth. A slit-like aperture, three or four feet from the ground, was plainly the point of at tack from which Ike’s doughty be seiger had met his Waterloo. Ike laughed over the incident in a kind of sober fashion, but obstinately re fused to take any part in felling the tree. Perhaps he had a soft place in his heart for those small friends who had aided him in a time of need ; per haps he had no desire to trespass further upon their hospitality. Later in the season Jerome Stillman and I sawed down the tree and secured a few pounds of honey in return for a vast amount of hard labor. Once only, so tar as I remember, did Ike’s sense of honor flash broadly over the incident of the bull and the bees. It was the week before the Calder boys went home, and Mrs. Newton had sent them up to get grandmother’s receipt for green to mato pickle. Ike confronted them as they were going out of the front gate: “So you fellows thought that bull chased me, eh ? Well, not on your life ! I just thought I’d walk over to the woods and look up that bee-tree.” NEBVB. He had a three days’ growth of beard and his collar looked like a Pittsburg sunset, but he was game. After partaking of a 3-cent lunch and carefully adjusting his frazzled tie he strode over to the telephone. “Say,” he called after maki#g con nections, “is dis de office of de new electric cab company ?” “It is,” came the response. “Well, is it true dat yer charge i cent a minute for de cab hire ?” “Yes.” “Well, listen.” “We’re listening.” “I’ve just got i cent left. Send one of de cabs around to ‘Big Jake’s lunch-room and I’ll engage it for one minute just to get de sensation, seei ; Goodbye.” A TEACHER after giving some les sons on physical force asked, “Now, boys, can any of you tell me what ’ force it is that moves people along the : street?” He was greatly surprised and the : class highly amused at receiving from one of the boys the unexpected an swer : • “Please, sir, the police force.” . “My boy, be polite and honest.” ; “But, dad.” “Sayon.” “Sometimes it’s pretty hard to be both at the same , time.” THE WITCH'S CURSE. Close by the road on the outskirts of the old seaport town of Bucksport, on the Penobscot river, is a small fam ily cemetery. Within its inclosure sleep the Bucks, the blue blooded folk who first settled the town and be queathed it their name and a legend. The largest and most conspicuous monument in the cemetery is a tall granite shaft, which is in plain sight of the highway. On one side is the inscription: “Col. John Buck, the Founder of Bucksport, A. D 1762. Born in Haverhill, Mass., 1718. Died March 18, 1795.” On the other side is the single word “Buck,” and also something not wrought by the marble worker. On the smooth surface of the pedestal is a curious outline, which can be easily imagined to be a foot of normal size. The people who say that it is a foot believe in the legend which has oft been told in Bucksport. The story is that Colonel Jonathan Buck was a very harsh man and the leading spirit in his day and genera tion. He was the highest incivilau thority, and his word was law in the community in which he resided. He was an out and out Puritan, and to him witchcraft was the incarnation of blasphemy. Thus, so the story goes, when a certain woman was accused of witchcraft, at the first clamorings of the populace Colonel Buck ordered that she be imprisoned, and later she was sentenced to be executed as a witch. The execution day came, and the woman went to the gallows, cursing her judge with such terrible words, that the people shuddered, but the magistrate stood unmoved. All was ready, and the hangman was about to perform his duty, when the woman turned to Colonel Buck, and, raising one hand toward heaven, she said : “Jonathan Buck, listen to these words, the last my tongue shall utter. It is the spirit of the only living God which bids me speak to you. You will soon die, and over your grave they will erect a stone, that all may know the spot where your bones lie and crumble to dust. “Upon that stone the imprint of my foot shall appear, and for all time, after your accursed race has vanished from the face of the earth, will the people from far and near know that you murdered a woman.” She then turned to her executioners, and another act transpired to make a part of American colonel history. The “witch curse” had been almost forgotten until the monument was erected to the founder of Bucksport. It had been in position hardly a month when a faint outline was dis covered on it. It grew more and more distinct,until some person made the discovery that it was the outline of a foot. The legend was revived. They said that the “witch's curse” had been fulfilled. An attempt was made to remove the stain, but every effort only tended to make it plainer. The imprint of the foot is there to day as plain as ever. Amateur pho tographers have taken pictures of it, and a visit to the Buck cemetery to see the “witch’s foot” is one of the pastimes of every summer visitor to the pretty little town. —New York World. GAVE THE*AHBWKB. Illustrative of the exasperating ease with which chickens occasionally “come home to roost” is this story from “A Soldier’s Tetter to Charm ing Nellie.” On a day in June, 1862, in the early part of the civil war Gen eral Hood, of the Texas brigade, halt ed each regiment in turn and gave his orders. To the Fourth he said : “Soldiers of the Fourth, I know as little of your destination as you do. If, however, any of you learn or sus pect it, keep it a sscret. To every one who asks questions answer, ‘I don’t know.’ We are now under the orders of General Jackson, and I re peat them to you.” General Jackson also gave strict orders against foraging, but apples were plentiful, and it was contrary to nature for hungry soldiers not to eat them, and so it came about that on the march to Staunton General Jack son came upon a Texan sitting ou the limb of an apple tree busily engaged in filling his haversack with the choic est fruit. The general reined in his old sor rel horse and in his customary curt tone asked : “What are you doing in that tree, sir?” “I don’tknow,” replied the Texan. “What command do you belong to?” “I don’t know.” “Is your command ahead of you or behind you?” “I don’t know.” Thus it went on, “I don’t know” given as answer to every question. Finally Jackson asked sternly : “Why do you give me that answer to every question ?” “’Cause them’s the orders our general gin us this mornin’, he tole us he got ’em that er way straight from ole Jackson,” replied the man in the tree. Disgusted with a too literal obedi ence to his own commands, but yet not caring to argue the point, General Jackson rode on. A new story comes out of the West which runs like this, according to the Tarkio Herald: A Sunday-school teacher asked his class who led the children of Israel out of Egypt. No one answered. He again put the question a little more pointedly. Still silence reigned. The teacher became impatient and said: “Johnny, who led the children of Israel out of Egypt?” Johnny began to cry and said. “Please, sir, it wasn’t me. We just moved here this week.” ' ‘ You say this man stole your coat ?’ ’ said the magistrate. “Do I under stand that you prefer charges against him?” “Well, no, your Honor,” re plied the plaintiff. ‘'l prefer the coat, if it’s all the same to you, sir.” OH A 810 PRESERVE. East week we took a look at the Corbin game preserve, near Newport, N. H., and saw how the largest herd of buffaloes in the world was cared for during the winter months. The successful management of this rapidly increasing herd is, of course, a matter of national importance, and the most important effort being made at the present time in the interest of Ameri can big game is the effort directed toward the permanent preservation of this and the few remaining herds of buffalo by the Federal Government. But there are many other wild creatures in Corbin Park which need more or less attention during the win ter. There are elk and deer and wild boar by hundreds, and moose, nobody knows how many, since they usually remain deep in the woods and show themselves only at rare intervals. Next to the buffaloes, the wild boar are the first animals requiring the at- ' tention of the superintendent. In the spring, summer and autumn these vigorous creatures get their own living chiefly by rooting in the ground, but when the earth is frozen hard as iron and covered with snow besides, root ing is out of the question. The boar are fed upon whole corn, which in the fall is stored away in old deserted houses and barns, or in huge feed boxes, made on purpose, in different sections of the forest. Each of these sections is in charge of a man whose business it is to see that all the game in his territory have food enough to keep them in good condi tion. First of all, he selects one or more places for feeding grounds, and here he scatters his corn. But wild boar are shy creatures, and it is the man’s duty to see to it that all the boar in his section are regularly vis iting the feeding grounds. He must tramp over hill and dale through the dense woodland and learn where the different colonies of boar are nesting. Then he must show them the way to the feeding grounds by laying trails of corn, sometimes for a mile or more, leading to one of the spots which is to be a woodland dining room for the rest of the winter. In some cases this trail has to be laid over and over again before the man is sure that all the boar are visiting the feeding ground. Afterward he feeds them every other day, making his trips on snowshoes, of course, since the deep snows usually make it impossible to travel in the forest without them. The alternate days are spent in feed ing theelk and deer moose. The natur al food tor these creatures in winter consists largely of the twigs of certain trees and shrubs. As most of the suitable twigs within reach of the an imals have already been eaten it is necessary to cut browse especially for them. This work is now done under the supervision of a forester, who sees that no valuable trees are cut for this purpose. Indeed, in order to save the trees, the elk are often fed on hay, which is stored in different parts of the preserve and distributed as it is needed. A few nights ago I came upon a band of fifty elk in the moon light, quietly feeding on hay in the deserted barnyard of what had once been a thriving farm. As I said before, the moose are not often seen, though their great tracks, leading to and from piles of freshly cut browse, are frequently seen. Not long ago a man who was working in the forest had still more striking evi dence of their presence. In the course of his wanderings he came upon a fallen tree, the top of which barred his path. He was an agile fellow, and, leaping over it, he landed almost on the back of a big bull moose, which leaped to its feet and charged him on the instant. He needed no further incentive to “step lively,” and dodged behind tree after tree in his efforts to escape the wrath of his mighty adversary, whose rest he had unwittingly broken. It was half an hour before he finally succeeded in escaping by strategy, and, in spite of the low temperature, he was perspiring from every pore. With the exception of the boar, the animals are usually fed early in the day, but the wild pigs are nervous folk (albeit they are rough customers when wounded or cornered), and un less extremely hungry, do not like to approach the feeding grounds until dusk. Then it is that their food is scattered, for if it was put out earlier the deer would pick it up before the arrival of the boar. Usually, after the wild hogs have returned to their nests under the spruces, there is more or less corn to be seen upon the feed ing ground, and bright and early next morning this is picked up by a little army of birds, chief among which are the ruffed grouse and blue jays. One of the most important matters which engaged the attention of the superintendent of the White Moun tain forest during the winter is the inspection of the fence which encloses the great tract of 24,000 acres. This fence is eight and a half feet high, and is made chiefly of stout wire, stretched taut on posts twelve feet apart. In addition to the wire, there is a heavy netting reaching to the height of six feet, and also stretched upon the posts. As a matter of fact, this fence seldom breaks under any strain which is put upon it, but as its breaking is among the possibilities, and might entail very serious loss, it must be inspected at frequent inter vals, especially in winter. After every severe storm, and often during the storm itself, men are sent out to “walk” this fence, each man being required to inspect a given section of it. Simple as this duty is, it is not un attended by danger. If a man should fall and break a leg or stun himself, miles from any dwelling, the accident would mean almost certain death where the temperature is apt to be anywhere from twenty to fifty degrees below zero, and where the wind can search for one in the depths of the thickest clothing. And this is why an anxious wife will sometimes call one up on the telephone, to find out if anything has been seen of her ESTABLISHED 1850. “man,” and if a man is out beyond his time when he should have been home, there are a dozen ready to don their snow-shoes and get out to see what keeps him. When men are men they feel for men Who do the work of men. Washinqton Star. HEW YOBK’B BOWEEY. In the early forties of the last cen tury there lived in Brooklyn a Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Mr. Smith was a rising civil engineer, and most of his work was in New York. It was ne cessary that he be nearer his place of business than Brooklyn, for in those days ferries were slow and infrequent, no bridges spanned the river, and horse cars were the speediest means of trausit. Being a man of moderate means, Mr. Smith went house-hunt ing through the streets of New York, seeking a modest but respectable abode. Near the upper end of the 1 Bowery he found a small house. Elated with bis success, he rushed home with the news to his wife. But when he mentioned the name of the street in which this house stood his wife’s face fell. “How could you think of it?” she asked. Smith was in despair. Even as far back as 1840 the Bow ery had acquired an unenviable repu tation. Mr. Smith tried to explain that the upper part of the Bowery was still untarnished; that many very respectable people lived in that part of town ; that it would be many long years before crime and sin would spread that far north. It was all wasted energy. The fact that she would be living on the Bowery was sufficient for Mrs. Smith. As a civil engineer it was Mr. Smith’s custom to overcome obstacles. The following day he hired a convey ance, and he and Mrs. Smith went house hunting together. Mrs. Smith knew her Brooklyn thoroughly, but had only a slight acquaintance with New York. After driving through many streets without finding a suita ble house the husband quietly turned into the Bowery at Union Square and slowly walked the horse in the direc tion of the house he had found the previous day. Suddenly Mrs. Smith exclaimed, “Why, there’s a pretty place to let, dear 1” “Where ?” listlessly questioned her husband, purposely looking in the op posite direction. Had Mrs. Smith not been so intent upon the house in ques tion she might have noticed the merry twinkle in her husband’s eyes and suspected something. “Right over there,” she replied pointing to the house with the “To Eet” sign. An examination of the premises convinced Mrs. Smith that she must have the place, and when she learned that her neighbors were old friends of hers she had her husband close the bargain at once. All this time no mention was made of the street. How Smith managed to move into the house aud keep Mrs. Smith in the dark as to the name of the street is a mystery. But there came a day, and there was a storm. The tear fall was something hereto fore unknown in the Smith household. Once again Mr. Smith’s habit of overcoming obstacles stood him in good stead. His wife would not live on the Bowery. Her home was ideal, her neighbors were good people, but they lived on the Bowery. So Smith aud one of his neighbors went before the board of aldermen. The neighbor had influence. The street signs from Union Square down to Fourth street were changed. Instead of “Bowery” the words “Fourth avenue” were substituted. And Mrs. Smith was happy ever after. — New York World. GIBIIB, DO HOT MABBY FOB A HOKE. Home is a woman’s real sphere, however much conditions and neces sities have forced her into other and more extended ones. No true woman is indifferent to “home,” and all that it means to herself and others. The more truly womanly she is the more she appreciates and values it. But to marry for a home’s sake is like buy ing a picture for its frame or valuing the binding of the book above the book itself. No one can make the home a more important thing in married life than the man one marries and in no possi ble case can the home satisfy one if the husband fails. Real love for the man one marries will make a home of an attic or the weather side of a hedge-row. But married life where the home is first and the husband second, or a bad third, is a hideous travesty of what it was meant to be, and it can never draw anything but a blank in the marriage lottery. The girl who has married for a home has provided herself for the best of her days with a cage which she must halve with another being. The girl who marries for a home is as mistak en as the man who marries for a housekeeper. Both are oblivious of the real reasons for marriage, the highest and the best. Both put the home before the maker of it, and that leads to sure disappointment in the end. Marriage can scarcely be a lot tery in the case of these people. One could tell them so confidently before hand that it will never draw anything in their case but a dreary blank. “So you sold that miserable old mule of yours !” “Yassir,” replied Mr. Erastus Pinkley ; “fohrealmon- ey “Doesn’t it weigh on your con science ?” “Well, boss, I’s done had dat mule on my mind so long it’s kind of a relief to change off an’ git ’im on my conscience.” “I wish I could be a laundress,” ‘ said little Dorothy. 5 “You would have to work very, s very bard, my child,” observed her mother. “But just think, mamma, of all the r stockings I could hang up.” t There are many good rabbits play r ing lion parts.