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=.==. miDDIIO ADVKUTMEMKHTS. Vries JUioTa m«mis wosTtbaSI OMlMt.« M MM fM M | MM Twolmi.es. IS II sn 17 aw am m Three indMe. 7 17 *M 2^ W MM FourIsrbss.. I* M « M » M 4AM tV“J it mm Ftwslacfce*.... M MUM 4AM MM _,________ autacbss. I»M as4S( Ma MM ADVERTISEMENTS. ^ MtiriAfA tnd (Imth notl*'6t| wH ticMdlnc i.^V^rnMrdJocr,'"SveenciBl B* T* H0BBS* A Government in the Interest of the People. $200 PER ANNUM. »£• escli subsequent insertion. - " . T -- ■- '■ - ■ -— - — ' ■"■■■■ - .. . ■ — — ■ — rates. «■— VOLUME I. BROOKIIAVEN, MISSISSIPPI, THURSDAY, APRIL 5, 1883. NUMBER 7. ..'S.'iKSSTSSJ.'S.Sr BY NEIGHBOR'S WELL. I would they'd romp n*Htn. Jobn. Tbo*« <t«y» when we were y< uni Byneljrhb r> well; ab! then. Jobn, we tut whole evenlnre Ion*. Tb» silent moon we watched o’erbead Fr m out the wnlte clouds peep. And tslkerl of bow the heavens were hl*b. And bow tbe well was deep. Ju«t tblnk how still thst was, John— The w< rid all bushed to rest— 'TIs thus no mora, alas I J< bn, Or Just in dre ims at best And when s m distant sbepberd’s son* Trilled o’er tbe moorland lone. Ob, Jobn.’twos music tbst, Indeed. Was sweeter ever known? Sometimes at eventide. John, I feel my heart still swell. As when once s.deb/ side, John, We sat by neighbor's well. Then < arerly I tom me round. As tb u*h you still were by; Ab, John, tbe only tbln* I find Is—that 1 stand and cry 1 — Temple Bar. • THE VALUABLE PACKAGE. A Station-A*ent's Story. I was telegraph operator and staUon kgent on one of the Western lines of railroad, when this adventure of which l am going to tell you happened to me It was a wild and stormy n:*jht, and as the depot was nearly half a mile out of town, the set of loafers which usually collected about the stove in the waiting room had eventually concluded to seek some place neurer home to spend the evening in. and, for a wonder, 1 was alone. The express from the West was due at !).S0. After that I should be at lib erty, and I began to wish the evening was over long before the train came along, or else that I had some one to talk to, for the depot was in one of the loncsomest spots that could have been selected; and the wind kept up a dismal moaning in the pines close by, and every now and then seemed to be positively howling in the wiros of the telegraph. I began to feel nervous and fidgety. At last the train came. I was also express agent, and the expressman on the train handed me a heavily-sealed envelope, remarking, as he did so: ** Be careful of that. Branthwaite. There’s a big bonanza in that package, if it were yours or mine.” " Money P” I asked, noticing that there were but two passengers getting off^»two men in shaggy overcoats a id slouohy-lookinghats whom I concluded, without thinking much about them or paying but little attention to them, to be hunters returned from some up country trip. ‘‘Yes: strife of twenty thousand, I believe," answered Phillips. "Old Pow ers is sending it down to his son, who’s putting up a mill somewhere near here, isn’t he ” "Yes; on the other side of the river,” I replied. "It s lucky to have a rich father, Phillips.” "You’re r.glit there,” answered Phil Jlp». And then the train started off. and I turned and walked toward the otlice. As I neared the door with the package in my hand one of the men, who had been watching me,made aspr ngto 'ard me. I doa't know how I happened to be on the lookout for them, but L must hare been, for I lumped back al most the same instant that no made bis move, and before either one of them comprehended what I was about I bad made a dive between them and suc ceeded in getting into the office, and had the door bolted almost before i knew what 1 was doing. 1 heard a volley of curses hurled after me, and then I knew by the sounds and the creaking of the door that both of the men were trying to break in. But I had no fears of their doing that It was of hard wood, well-seasoned, and would resist all their efforts in that direction. 1 put the package in the sa'e, and looked it securely, before I stopped to think what was to be done. Then 1 sat down to think while I could hear the men talking outside. 1 knew they were bo ding a co noil over the means to be used to effect an entrance and obtain possession of the money I had received. It was anything but a pleasant situa tion to be in. Here was I alone half a mile away from any assistance, at ten o'clock at night - and a stormy night at that—and the probabilities were that nearly everybody was already in be L If they were not, no one would think of coming to Ihe depot at that time of night. Outside were two desperate men, who knew I had a large sum of money in my possession, and they knew that if they cou d effect an entrance l would amount tobutlitt e in the wav of preventing an accomplishment of their vil ainous purpose. budtienly a thought occurred ta me. The clerk at the hotel where I bomied had taken a fancy to telegraphy and we had put up a wire between the hotel and the depot Why couldn’ 1 advise him of my danger, and have him send , help? 1 henrd a new sound at the door just then which sent the blood in great frgh ened waves .all over me. The men had begun to o.it their way in with pocket-knives! I rushed to the instrument and 1 ‘call ed” George. What if he had gone to bed, or should be out? 1 turned pale at the thougbt , !',i Bat pretty soon a response came book. He was there. Go ahead. I began and wrote: •‘I am in danger. Two men are tty- ■ ing to gain admittance for the purpose of robbing the express safe Pend help immediately, for God s sake! Not a minute to lose!” "Slower,” telegraphed George, who had not been | racticing long enough to be able to read well. 1 went over with the message again. But I suppose excitement made mv ; writing ‘‘blurred,” for again he sent back word: "Slower, and more distinct! Can’t lira e it oat ” •• Good God! Before I succeeded in making him understand me they would be through the door, I thought, with a cold sweat breaking out all over me But I went over the message again, and this time he caught it, ana sent back a hurried "All right! Hold out for ten minutes!” The men were digging away like leavers. I < ould ice the pointsuf theft knives once in a while, as they splintered away fragments of the panels. Bop I Lno vv that U would ta’ e them some time pet to cut away enough for them to make an entrance throngh. • Htnr fl (yisbcl 1 had a pistol! 1 waited in feverish impatience. Sud denly there was a crash, an 1 one panel was stove in by the foot of one of the men. "Aha!” he grinned, with his leering face at the aperture. "You see we mean business, don’t you? What are you going to dowhen we get in, eh?” I didn't know'. Die, 1 supposed, if they took an idea to put an end to me into their heads. Why didn’t George and the help he had promised < onto5 it seemed to me that they had had time enough to ma’ e a ten m le tramp. "We’ve got the second panel almost ready to stave in,” said the other man, chuckling horribly over the cheerful in formation. "Then, I guess, Tom- can crawl through. You might as well be opening that boxo your n, an’ git out that bundle we're a ter. It’ll save all on os oon-iderable trouble an’ time.” Crash came his foot against the panel, and it burst into splinters; and my heart fairly stopped beating w hen I saw one of them thrust his head an i shoul ders through the opening. 1 seized the poker, and struck him over the head with all the force I could muster. He rolled out a volley of terrible curses, but 1 was master of the situation at that particular moment. Suddenly there was a sou d if voices, and ikon the man outside t ' »d out that they wrero "nabbed,’’ and tried to ma.e his es ape. Hut 1 knew by the sound that he was caught, and was struggling wi„h his captors. There were several pistol-shots fired, and eager cries, dur ing which the poor w ret h in the door made no effort to escape, hut lay there limp and motionless. 1 began to fear I hail killed him. I drew hac ; the bolts, and got the door open ju-t in time to see the other one overpowered, a prisoner in the hands of a nalf-a-do/en of the boys from town. Then we got. th -man out of the door. He wasn’t dead, but he w as insensible; my bio vs with the po or had been too much for him. 1 bought me a pistol the first thing next mornintr, ana was on the lookout for robhers and adventnrers after that; but that was the only adventure of any a count that happened to me while 1 stayed there. If it hadn’t been for that telegraph w hich George and I had put into operation, I rather think 1 should have fi: ished up all my earthly advent ures that night.— Farm and Fireside. Deportment Edicts. Speaking of the manners of good society, questions oi social usage pu/.zle a great many woman, judging by the letters that are forwarded to me asking about such matters. Mo-t of them re late to cards and weddings, and I may be instructive generally by answering several of them. If u bride has sent you wedding-cards you should call upon ■ her in her new relation. If she sent out no cards, you may call, and leave her to decide whether she cares to keep np the social interchange of visits bv re turning yours. If you do not wish to continue the acquaintance, that is to keep up formal visiting, you » aii drop it at this timo as appropriately as any. It is | erfectly proper for a young worn n on assuming new social obligations as a wife to revise her own visiting list and take proper means to retain only those names to which she may feel herself able to do social justice. An unit arrietl woman who has ao older sister unmar ried has .“ Miss” ou her cards, without her initials or her first name. On re turning to your home after long ab sence send your cards to those whom you wish to call upon you. If you in tend to remain in the town where you are, send out cards to every one whom you wish to know, mentioning the day and hour at which you will be at home to receive them, and offer some light refreshments, like tea and cake, at five o’clock. It is correct for a widow to have her Christian name on her visiting cards. A card with “ac ceptance” w itten or engraved upon it is vulgar. Write a puuctilious note iu the th rd person, acc pting or de clining. If a card is turned down in the corner it means the visitor called in person. The man who is a stranger to the woman should leave a card for her as well as the man who had ta';en him to call. It is a visit whether she is at home or not Both should leave cards. A girl about to be married does not put P. r. C. on her cards. Write your regret or acceptance of an invitation on a sheet of note paper and put it in an envelope directed tq the person who invites you. Unless you are to send it by post one envelope is enough. Do not write re gret or acceptance on your visiting card; that is vulgar. It is proner to send a card to the bride if'you do not call in person, bntf ft is better to call, and es pecially must you call on her mother, who invites you. The best form for ac ceptance is the simplest: “M ss Smith has much pleasure in accepting the polite invitation of Mrs. Brown for Thursday, the 15th.” The ushers at day weddings are again wearing pearl colored kid gloves with a black stitching on the back. The coat is a black cloth Prince Albert frock, and the trousers are dar v gray. Their cravats may be white Ottoman, black, or a dark color, but must be uniform, whatever color is chosen. The bride and groom must wear gloves, but the groom must not wear a dress-suit in the day-time, no matter how the bride is dressed- It is not customary to send aooeptanees of invitations to weddings unless the card contains the request to respond. Where from two to five huudre’d or more cards are sent out, the formal response toeach one would be a nuisance. The proper acknowledgement is a gift and con gratulations if presence on the occasion is impossible. OI course, if it is asmall at-home wedding, where provision Is made for a sit-down dinner or supper, the case becomes somewhat diff erent, as only intimate fiiends are Invited, and it is desirable to know approximately the number that will be present. Hut the cabalistielettars R S. V. P. were in vented «a an intimation that reply is something desired, and would not have ever bean used if Ijfe was long enough to sand and receive replies to all notes of iatitation.—N. Y. Cor. Cincinnati Enquire*. ■ ' —'Mias Dr. Har. is, a young A me' i oan lad who opened ah office in Hong Kong, was called to attend the wife of one of the chief officials of t hin r. The native doctors were fu ions, but I t Princess got well. The Tresh Poker-Player. The hotel man turned to a by-stander and said: "That's just the way it goes, | and that makes the third case of that kind I’ve seen this winter. These young suckers from some little town, come down hero with a few dolla-s, and getin with the boys, and expect to play the eye-teeth out of them, and go back home with half the money in Milwau kee in their pants pockets. I don’t be lieve there is a bigger fool on earth than a young man who has learned to play poker a little, and who gets mashed on the game, and has plat ed with the other Twys in his town for kernels of corn, out in th * barn, t.ll he thinks he knows more about the game than the oldest gambler in 'the country. In every little town, almost, on earth, there Is just such a gang of young men, who got an insight into the game of poker, and get so they can open a * jack pot’ for four kernels of corn and not blush, or come out of a game ahead. wnen playing -penny ante wun ineir chums, and ten chances to one there is one of the number who has more gall than the rest, who imagines himself a thoroughbred, and who makes up his mind t<> go to some large place and win a few hundred dollars, and come home and make his chums eyes hang out when he shows them his pile. He goes to work carrying in coal or driving team, and saves up fifty or sixty dol lars, and buys a ticket for some large city. He scorns the idea of purchasing a return trip ticket, as he thinks he will have a big stake when he gets ready to come home, and he can stand it better to pay railroad fare. Well, he gets to the city and hunts up some gambling rooms, that he has read about in the local paper, and he sits into a game along with a lot of old chaps, old enough to be his father, and he think* he has struck a snap, and wonders what such a crowd of old du era know about poker, anyway. He commences to play and the first thing he knows the old fel lows make betg that causes his hair to stand, and his face turns red, and his shoes are full of the perspiration that leaks out of him as it would out of a tin water cooler. He thinks he ought to show what sand he has. as he i sed to at home, and he makes an effort to raise a bald-headed old party out of his boots by making a big bet, but when the •showdown’ comes and he finds that he has been betting against one of the biggest hands he ever saw in his life, he gets more nervous than ever, and he goes it blind, and it don’t take more than a few minutes before he is laid out fatter than a tramp, the old duffers ha\e got his money, and as they ask him to take a cigar or some hing to kind o’ smooth it over, he feels sick, and wishes he had never seen a pack of cards. Then he does just what you saw that young fellow doing just now. Gets Some fellow Whom he happens to meet from his native place to loan him money, enough to t; ke him home, and he de parts, poorer and a confounded sight wiser than he was when he came to town. Oh. you bet 1 know just how it is with that class of young men,” and the hotel man sighed, and shook his head, and walked away’.—Peck's Sun. Fashions in Plants. A few days ago a New York 8tnr re porter calle i upon a gentleman well versed in domestic Horticulture. “ .-'re there fashions in hon e plants as in dress, musi • and morals.” asked the report er. “Notin house plants,” replied the seedsniau, “because the varieties which eau be cultivated at home arc limited in number. But the fashions in flowers in general change, of course. This is a tickle world.” With this bit of philosophy t e florist finished sorting some buibs that loo ed like wrin led onions, and carefully dusted his fingers. “What is the latest blooming agony?” “Foil hocks. list year all ths world went in for sunflowers, thanks to the great O. W. But, of iour «, sun flowers could not be i u tivated in-doors unless people chose to alter roofs and floors to suit the gro • th of the plant. You want to snow about house flowers, though; those w hich was:e their sweet ness on the parlor air. Well. I think they may be divided nto two classes— the plants which gro v only from the seed, and the ones which may be culti vated from cuttings, 'lo the former class belong mignonette and nastur tium. To the latter geraniums, pe tunias, verbenas, vincas, heliotropes and portulacas. I have named some of the plants most in demand for home culture. 1’ortulacas, particularly, are much sought after. Here are some. Lid you ever see anything more deli cate and pret y than those blossoms? And yet the plant is a mira le of hardi ness. You can’t burn it up, no matter how much you expose it to the sunshine. Notice the variety of colors. We have some tints of all shades, from scarlet to yellow. Blue, I think, is almost the only color not found in portuiacas. Vincas are also very popular but more expensive than most of the other house Slants. Here is a heliotrope in blossom, his is another favorite. “ What is this that looks like a carna nation ?” • * This is a phlox, and also a plant in high favor. You will notice that the i ower has fewer petals than the carna tion.” * Yo i spoke of i eraninms; how many varieli s of that plant r re there?” “Haifa doz, n. The ge anium is a ha dypartt, so far as hot weather is concerned. It will stand my amount of h at and a u ode rate degrev of cold Many peopl • like chrysanthemums for fall growing.” “How a out roses9 Aruthey much in demand fur house plants?” “Oh. yes; there is always a ready s le for them. Th y are not • xjten ive. You o n get rose pi nts all th.: way from lift *en to fifty cents apiece. We s< 11 ten of h m for one do :ar. Th re are n ore than ;wo thou and v.irieti r. At preheat the t a ros , a dainty fower in delicate shades of pink and y Bow is the favorit ». Did you ever near of bine ro es? You can produce th m by putting terr c oxide, cornon nly call d iron ru-t, • bo t th roote of th ■ plants, whieh, in the course of nat n, would yhldpiuk flowers. Lilies? Yes they i re fa orlt a You know what a swe t d Beat , frail-look' ng l ower they are, ye; they trt exceedingly robus1, axd will stand no end o' bard t eatment I Speaking of h ’rdy plants remind' me of the canaidi m, which naither neglect nor kindn ss will kill.” " What do you m< an by killing a plant by kindness?” *• I’ll tell you. Mostof the people who cultivate flowers indoors don’t under stand the business. To begin with, they are likely to plant the seed too deep —to bury them, in fact, and then wonder why they never ‘com: np.’ No absolute rule can be laid down upon the subject, but I rsually tell people to place the seeds in their own thickness of earth. A common error is to suppose that a plant is perpetually thirsty, and accordingly it is generally overwatered. The fact is that, except in very u arm weather, a plant should be watered only once a day, and that at night. Besides, amateur iforists manure their plants too much. The treatment of frozen plants, also, is in most instances wrong. A prev alent mistake is the supposition that sun shine, in large doses, is the only thing for frozen plants. A per.-on who would cure frozen feet by putting them in a hot oven wou d be denounced as a lunatic, yet it seems that people will never learn that plants and animals have many things in common. A grad ual increase of tempera’ure is the thing for frozen plants. I suppose it wonld surprise you to .'earn that many plants die of hasty consumption.” j ‘-I shou d as soou expect to hear of their d>ingot cerebro-spinal menin gitis.” replied the .Star man. “Well, it’s a* tact. You see, in the hot ho ses the plants are rushed until ready for sale. Then they are taken straight from the liot-bouses to the cold markets, whence they go back into warm air aga n. The inevitable result is that the jdants take cold, and in a little while die of consumption, as 1 have said.” “ f- o far as you know, what class o! the population is fondest of flowers?” “I think the Germans. They culti vate plants more intelligently than most other people. You will find scores of German f'orists in the suburbs. The Irish are also fond o flowers. I never saw plants better c iltivated than among the Lancashire miners in England. Each man coni nes himself to one kind of t ower, and the result is that he grows healthy stock. He excl anges cuttings with his neighbors, and now that region is a perfe t garden of flowers.” “Is domestic floriculture expensive?” " No. You can get plants enough to make your parlor a paradise or two dollars, or three dollars at the utmost For that expenditure \ou can get a year’s pleasure if yo t only exercise com mon sense in managing yoi.r plants.” ^ ♦ » — Concerning Soap. I am “notional” about soap, and one of my very explicit directions to the dish-washer is: “Never use laundry soap in the dish-washing, for it is made of dead beasts of any ami every deserip 1 tion, and far from being fit to wash clothes with,even.” Andeverybox I buy of it, I make a weak vow that it shall be the last A gentleman was telling me the other day that “Out West,” where he had traveled much, hogs that die from cholera a e rendered for soap grease. Scientists inform us that many skin diseases arc produced by impure soaps, aud that infectious diseases arc sometimes generated through them. Upon reflection the possibility and probability of all this are easily appar rent. Even in home-made soap care should be observed to keep the “grease” clean and sweet This can be done by the frequent rendering of it, by at once putt ng it in strong lye. It is perfectly obvious that what is used to wash the hands, particularly, which arc often cut or otherwise injured, should be free from all poisonous substances. If there can be enough of home-made soap to supply the needs of the house, it should be a cause for thauksgiving. But if one has to buy soap, there are room and reason for the exercise of discretion. For dish-washing and cleaning pots and pans use washing soda. It is quite as cheap and greatly to be preferred. For the toilet choose soap made from oil. It costs more, but. like ev. ry other best thing, it is cheapest in the end Palm-oil soap is fully as nice as that made from olive oil, and I, for one, like it better. Genuine Castile soap is made from olive oil and soda and I have been assured tnat even for laun dry purposes the Castile soap is as economical as the ordinary hard soap sold for that purpose. Carbolic soap is, of course, excellent for skin diseases and wounds of all sorts; but much that is sold for good soap is nothing of the sort I r. member sending a young person to a country store with the in i junsHon to purchase some Castile soap, and the article he brought home was never used for any purpose. Of course, the store-man would never hate at tempted to palm off so spurious an ar ticle upon an intelligent adult. As the cultivation of the sunflower increases, the oil from its seeds will be largely utilized in soap-making. Cotton seed oil, I believo. is not altogether agree able in soap, but that objection will probably be overcome, so that the com ing man will delight solely in vegetable soaps.—Mary IF. I'ieher. A Wonderful Child. Th3 Trentjn (N. J.) Times > ys thst Percy F Crisp, the lad of nine y< ars whose death, whs published recently, was in every re pect a most wooderful child. He possessed a mind far in ad van e of his years, and was never ha per than when delating o* dis cern sin; upon son e scientific subject with persons four times his age For the last month or two this ohild had studied an old translation of the ••ill d ” i-tory-books of light litera tu>e had no attraction for nim. On matters of ancient history, astronomy physiology and geography he stoo I in a position to be envied dv many of the teachers of those studies. Only the other day this child-sage was looking with his mother at a pictuie of “At lanta's Kace, * in a State street window. His mother inquire I of him as to the history of it and withou hesitation the child relate f the incidents which the engraving illustrated Even on his sick-bed ne misted < n being read to. and would glan e under the sroon or i glass in which his medicine was being | i iven. in order to read whatever might , be on the stand by his bed. His death ' was caused by s severe attack of diph : then* PERSONAL A YD LITERARY. —The Polish novelist Kraszewisbkl— whose name, if von have a cold, you van sneeze—has written 490 no vela —Pere Hyncinlhe, accompanied by his wife, will spend the com ng summer in this country nnd will lecture in vari ous cities.—N. Y. Times. —George Alfred Townsend (“Gath”) is a capital interviewer, but never uses a note book. He has an astonishing memory. His articles are dictated to an amanuens:s, and he does as much work as four ordinary men. He makes $20,000 a year. — Mr. ( eorge Russell, of Phi'adelphia, says the North American, of that city, has theo'dest Bible in the English lan fuage in the United States. It is a lack-letter Bible, dated London. 1597, bound with the Apocrypha and Book of Common Prayer. — Re . Dr. Robert Landis, the relig ions author and the most eminent l’j-es byterian divine of Kentucky, died at Danville, la ely, in the garret where he lived a hermit s life,.cooking his own meals and sleeping on a rough plank.— Pluto, telphia Press. —In return for the autographs which Senator Tabor so industriously collected, as related in the New York Trihum\ the thirty-days’ Senator gave each of his colleagues a unique present. This was an elaborate after-wedd ng card, bound w th a heavy band of Colorado silver, and cost ng $52.50 each. —Henry Little, in his reminiscences of the \ ermont Legislature of 1805, writes from personal recollections—a marvelous instance of a clear mind and a retentive memotA. Another remark able fact is that he writes a clear, legible hand, which wou’d put to shame a ma jority of the voting men of the present time.—Boston Post. —A new portrait of the poet Long fellow, said to be an < xcellent one, has just appeared. It was engraved by Charles Burt, the principal engraver of vignettes and portraits for the Treas ry Department at Wash ngton, and repre sent-! Mr. Longfellow as he appeared in his seventieth birthday’—white haired, full bearded, his lace already showing a little of the emaciation and a gre t deal of the serenity of age. sitting in a re eotive at'itude, and renting the jaw lightly on the right hand, but loolt ing lull at you.—N. Y. Post. -■-^ -— HUMOROUS. —A clerk in a Government oflfiee was recently injured by an acc defltal dis charge of his duties. It will not occur again.—N. Y. Uraphie. —It was a pale seamstress who, when, directed to take to pieces a dozen shirts, lacking one, remarked that she had been served with an order of rip-levin. —Pittsburgh. Telegraph. —Speaking of a commercial traveler who was arrested for embezzlement, an exchange says: “He confesses his guilt” A drummer may own up to gilt but to brass—never.—Boston Tran script. —A news item says the male mem bers of a Pennsylvania family are “ be witched.” The next door neighbor evi dently has several pretty daughters. It often happens that way. —Norristown Herald. —A retired vocal st, who had ac quired a large fortune by marriage, was asked to sing in company. “Allow me,” said he, “to imitate the night ingale, which does not sing alter it has made its nest —A little fellow, going to church for the first time, where the pews were very high, was asked, on coming out. what he did in church, when he replied: “ I went into a cupboard, and took a seat on the shelf.” —When things get dull in Oregon some one build-* a bonfire on the crest of Mount Hood, and the telegraph re ports that the supposed extinct volcano shows signs of breaking out with re newed fury.—Detro t Free Press —A gentleman boasted that the pa pers in his v llage pa so much atten tion to soc etv matters “that a lead ng c ti/en can not go home sober late at night without having the fact published, as an interesting fact.”--A'. Y. Journal. —A Berks County (Pa.) young wom an threw a pair of scissors at a man who was teasing her. As one of the points penetrated his eye he couldn’t see the joke, although she claimed it was sheer nonsense.—N. Y. Commer cial Advertiser. —The maiden point of view—Mamma (to Maud, who has been with her broth er to the play, and is full of it): “But there is no love in the piece then?” Maud: “love’ Oh dear, no, mamma. How could there be? The principal characters were husband and wife, you know?”—Punch. —The Arkansaw Traveller tells of a lady who knows that her husband never shakes dice for the drinks, and that he is strictly sober, was awakened the oth er night hr her husband, who in his sleep exclaimed: “Three trays to beat Horse on mo. ” “What do you mean ?*’ asked the wife, shaking him. “What does who mean?” “You.” ') hat about?” "Why, you cried out: ‘Horse on me.’ ” “That's all right I merely had a nightmare.” >o Complaints from the Boarders. A Detroit milkman some time sinoe secured a customer whom he soon d s covered meant to pay in promises, but he realised that if he quit serving her he stood no chance of collecting the debt already contracted. He therefore planned to oblige her to dismiss him. and began by adding one-fourth water to the milk. No fault being found he put in fifty per cent of water. Three days passed witho t complaint, and the amount of water rose to aevonty-hve per cent. In three or four days'more he served her with two uuart< of water ool ored by a gill of milk. Next morning he expected to hear from it, bnt as the servant girl made no complaints he asked: “ How does the family like the milk?’' •• Pretty well, I guess.” “No complaints?” “Not as I’ve leard. Missus is a widow, you know, aad doesn't drink tes nor coffee on account of the dyspep sia, and the boarders have all they can do tc complain of the batter! ” The man gave it op aa a bad job — Deroit Free Press. Temperance. A SIMPLE GLASS OF BEER. “Char.ie. come here!” The voice was loving and tender, yet with a certain pained quiver in it. 'the face that looked out of the window bore traces of sorrow a. though it had I een part of the living to bear pain. The l>oy came in thinking of h's play, and a most forge'ting what his mother said. He was ten years old, with a bright, open a<e. “ What did you say you wanted me to do?” “ Nothing, dear, only to sit down and listen to omething I have to say. She choked a little in answering, it was so hard to do it aft r all. There hail teen live in their family group once, now she and the lad were all. Kstaer and two sons had gone the crooked ways of drunken ness and death. What a legacy forthat bright, innocent boy! He had never known it. His mother's tender care ha I hedged him in Their quiet coun try home had bepn a refuge of purity. Char.ie had been ouly two summers at school. In the winter when the leg boys, with habits unknown, crowded the two back seatsof the district s liool howse, his mother marie eveuse to keep him at home. It was cold and storm ing and she didn’t like to stay a'one. Now they wore to move int > town, and the mother had thought, after some struggle, that the safest way was to put. the boy himself on guard- She had never talked Temperance very much heretofore; how could she when every word she might say cut backward into her own heart But the boy was son to the same fathe • rs the two who lay in dish nored graves, and she felt the time had come when it was best and necessary for the boy to know his own peculiar danger. So she told him. sparing her dear dead all she might It was thrusting knives into sore wounds, but a wise love made her brave and she did not falter. She did not crucify her self in vain. The great tears rolled down Charlie’s cheeks, and a whole heartful of boyish love and sympathy responded. ‘‘Oh mother, he cried, "mv poor, dear mamma, I never will drink any of that dreadful stuff.” ‘‘There are many easy ways, my boy, to begin; especially I warn yo.i against sweet cider and beer. And put no faith in the statement so often heard, that a man of any will can drink and stop. It is possible, though alway dangerous, yet allowing it to be ever so safe for others it would not be sa'e for you. We some times inherit tastes from our fathers and mothers, and so you. as you look Lke your father, might ha' e his liking for iicp or if you once tasted it, remember, just last d it, ( harlie. That was what made it so easy for your poor brothers to drink. People wondered that both should die—as they did—before they were twenty-two, but they had their father’s appetite and their own to con tend against” "I never could wrnt to taste it.” H's mother »m led, such a sad smile. “I want you this morning to make a solemn promise in writing, it is some times called a pledge, never to drink. I have wri ten it out for you, you can read it and write j our name at the bot tom, remembering that it is a very sol emn thing to make such a promise.” It was a very strong pledge. It had no qualifying phrase ‘‘as a beverage.” “Some think it necessary in small quantities as a medicine, but it is better that you shou d never take such medi cine even to sa'e your life. You must demand medicine free from alcohol, for yourself, as 1 have for you.” Charlie assented and deliberately signed his name. Then mother and son knelt down together and she prayed for a blessing on the future, o', her son. Y’ears passed and Charlie came to be eighteen w th his p edge unbroken. People remarked on the manly prom sc of the young I oy, and how beautifully he honored his mother; how that moth er's heart leaned on him; how it rested her after the dark years that bad passed? Yet she never felt securq, "When he is twenty-five” she said to herse f, “ I shall draw a lonir breath,'’ then blamed herself for doubting the boy who had proved so true to her and his vow. About this time Charlie h 'd a long sickness, serfous enough to make the mother very v g lant He had been sometime convalescent, when there came a bright sunny Sabtath •‘ I :.m quite we 1 enough to stay by myself to-day, m ther, you go to church.” So she went, gladly, into the hou-e of the Lord to offer thanksgiving. But the house seemed lonely and stiil to the sick boy. so he was very glad to see his Uncle Dan drive up. “Come over to see how yon're getting along; can’t you ride out a little way. ’ ‘‘Clad to see you, though I don t kuow about the riding; I haven't ven tured out yet.” ‘•Just the day to be in,” said Unc e Dan. in his hearty way. So Chirie yielded and went The day was love ly. and havin r been a prisoner so long, the fresh air and sunshine seemed like a new world to him. 'I his Uncle Dan was his father’s brother, and the roadside tavern and bar ha I its attractions. “ You’d better get out ahd come in,” he said to Charlie, “ it will rest you. I declare, I believe you'd better treat on this, you look as bright as a dollar.” “ You know I don t drink and I don’t like to see yon.” was the emphatic answer. *‘Oh, well. I want something, any way. and you'd better coine in.” Un hinking of the danger of | utting one foot in the way that leads into de struction, the boy wen* in < n enter ing. he found a«ousin and other young men with whom he was acquainted who were ready with rough and hearty con gratulations on his re overy. The ride had been exlLh abating; this was excit ing. "Believe you'll have to treat.” said his Uncle Dan. rubbing his hands. “Yes, a treat, old boy,” echoed the young men. hilariously. Charlie's cheek flushed- “Give yo r orders, boys.” he said, thrusting his hand into his pocket in search of change. “Hare a glass of beer yourself.” said his oousin. Charlie shook his bead. "Hard up; have to save the price of one glass,” guessed one of the young men. The boy was weak from sickness, ex cited by the circumstances. Always proud and foolishly sensitive, the ran dom remarl Irritated him. He snatched a glass of beer from th« count er and drank K, h • first taste. U was enough. Hefore the others had finished • the first glass, ( harlie called for a sec ond, I hen in an eager, harried way called for brandv. The boys grew sober and his Uncle Dan was alarmed and tried to interfere. Charlie turned on him fiercely. What had aroused in the boy snch wild desire? In a little while they put a drunken boy in the carriage and took him home —home to his mother what a deed! And her—oh, let such heartbreaks be veiled always. They arc beyond tears and telling. This was but a beginning. He still lives, but with every good im pulse lost in the whirlpool of appetite. A *implc g aix of beer did it.—Mary C. Ward, in f'n'on Signal The Djinir Child's Appeal to Her Drunken Father. “ Please, papa, don't drink! ” A bright, golden head was laid on the broad shoulder, the deep blue eyes looked pleadingly up, while little plump tingers clasped as well as they could the large, strong hand. Lovingly she rested there, out tears fast tilled the eyes, and the curly tresses trembled w,th emotion, for the dear child was thin mg of her fast changing father, of the bloated face and glassy eye, of the caresses which now never came, of the angry words often spoken, of the pale, worn, tired mother; of the bare feet, and the supperlcss nights when they were hurried to bed; of the changes that hud crept into their once lovely h me, a; d, most of all, over that dear one on whom all her childish love was centered. Child that she was, she felt the change in home and father, and with instincts almost divine had learned the cause. Her iroubled young heart could brook the difference no 1 nger; so, creeping noiselessly to his side, put ting ht r loving head on his shoulder, with one band in his and the other cir cl ng his neck, softly said: “Papa, dear, p’ease don’t drink any more!” “ lca-e, papa, don’t drink!” The 1 ttle sufferer lay npon a couch of pain, intently looking up at the wreck of her devoted parent The accursed god of Bacchus had sto’en away his former self, and the burning fever had wasted her lovely form. She k sew she must die. that the dark angel would take her soon from those she loved and bear her spirit away to a brighter and better home. How could she leave that fath er, so loved and vet so altered, the dear father of her xhiidish sports and youth ful sorrows? Something must be done; he must be saved; an e.Tort—the very last she could ever make—must be pnt forth to arrest h's downward < areer.’ '] he parched lips move, the feeble hands raise, and the bowed head of that once strong man cat lies the whispered words- “Papa. O, papa’ please don t— don t drink any- more!” and the tired spirit winged its way to another world. O, that some power would turn the eyes of men inward, that they might see themselves as they really are and bebol I the degradation and misery thev inflict upon those given them to guard and to keep! ( ould they for jost one short moment see the tears wrung from anguishe I hearts, the cheeks grown palt% and heart-strings broken, could all the poverty, shame and suffering, all tta1 vice and crime, the blasted hopes and ruined homes, come be ore them as it comes before the world, there would be forever an en 1 to this a c rsetl raffie and drink. Bi t now, from every ham let ami dale, from every city and town, from the length and breadth of our land, comes the same heart-rending <ry, and host- of shame-faced children, robbed of their paternal rights, are pleading in ajoni/.ing t-mes; “Please, papa, don’t drink any more!”—Ar. Y. Ledger. What He Drinks. The I oer cr spirit-drinker is wont to look with ill-concealed contempt upon , the water-drinker, and as he tosses oil the glass he lias just paid h s money for iina ines that he has swallowed some thing far better and performed an action far more sensible. Yet if he would stop but for a moment to ask what he ha 1 just taken, he might think quite differ ently. t et us see. A barrel of beer conta ns abo .t 500 glasses. 'Jhe seller gives about $8 for it. an I sells it :or five cents per glass, or •26. His profit is 215 per cent- The dr nker drops in ten times per day and takes his glass of beer; in fifty days he bits consumed the 500 glasses and pai 1 •25 therefor. v hat has he swallowed? Scientific men sav that in the 600 glasses of beer there were ItiO glasses of me . e water, 26 glasses of pure alcohol. 15 gla ses of extract ■ and gums. So the fceer-«lrinker has paid #23 for 460 glasses of wafer, and imp re at that, which he coul 1 have had at the near st spring for nothing, and pu: e as nature made it. He has had in addition. 25 glasses of pure alcohol, which is a poison | - at enm:ty with every function of the syst in, no food, nor a heat producer— and besides all this, he has taken 15 gla-ses of extra ts of malt, sugary mat ter, indigestible gums, etc., etc. Surely, there is no absurdity so absu d. To pay •23 for 46u gla ses of impure water, when . he could have it pure for nothing, and 42 for 10 glasses of poison and mostly in j dige-tible drugs! but it pays the b ewers and the saloon-keepers to - ell water at 215 per cent advance on all their trouble of barreling and bottling it.—Prof. G. K. Foster. _ _ Temperance Item*. Phohjb'T-on is to be a prominent iss e this fall in the campaign for mem bers of the Maryland Legislature. The Temperance wave still gath ers strength. A Masonic Lodge, to be conducted on Temperance principles, is about to be founded in Manchester, England. M‘\ Gladstone is credited with the remark that the drinking customs of Great Bruirln are bringing on that conn try all the evils of war, pestilence and famine. There are nearly four thousand drinking saloons in Chicago; and it is estimated that thirty million dollars are expended annually for intoxicating liquors in that one city. The New Tore Cotomertiml Afwr ft*rr says: "Every case of hanging that takes place in this country is a ghastly tribute to the efficacy of liquor, and a terrible lesson to the men who grow rich through its upmufacture ’