Decatur Democrat, Volume 26, Number 37, Decatur, Adams County, 15 December 1882 — Page 4

p sll §bg| d |' ? y iWcipauline Ar a line to St. Josupb points tn loTv**^UchJson, Top-’ka. Dcui Ne. i .'i.sauari, L’alJus, Ga M 3. New .Mexico, Arizona, :.U?>*4L ?>>. veato. tans ?.--! Texas. O X'X I C .A. O- O ou ‘ e tias no sujH-riur fur Alber . Mtnnrapuiß and St. I’aiM 1 ’’‘Vcr.-a Nationally reputed a ]. v ‘ ’ ' 1 to . b-tn„’ the Grea b< -he best equipped rhrouqhCa R 3 In [';•■• World for KANSAS CITV All connections made 'ln Union X 1 rh Try,t Tickets v’,3thiXsTT and T ou Wl ' E< .- r,rat< .1 Line find ,raveln < a B.i.' as all offices luxury, instead the V S. and^^\XxX of a dl * Canada. />(v/ A irvCzßK, comfort - X ZvPs. X aboul Karca ut X/'/'fcXx Fare, Sleeping Cars. < r ’c ■-hoerfu ly given by X/ ; i POTTER. PERCEVAL LOWELL, Sd Vice li'cs't A Gen'l Manager, Gen. ftut. Agi., Chicago, 11l Chicago. 111. SRAND RAPIOS & INDIANA RAILWAY. In Effect October 15, 1888. COLUMBUS TIME. GOING NORTH. St>ti •:> - ' No. 1. No. 3. 1 No. 5. No. 7. Ci!i..’ .H.O Jv 8 15am 7 4 pm Kielinr i.d lv. 3 ft'.pm 11 10 10 20 Winchester 4 19 1214 pm 11 28 Rid-e.iLte 439 12 38 ,11 49 Pe l and 5 08 1 05 12 if am Decatur 6 13 2 10 1 25 Fo’-t V»ayne ar 7 10 3 12 2 20 J o t Wayne lv; I 3 35 3 10 8 30am Kendallville 446 4 20 9 42 St ir is 6 08 5 42 11•*< Vicksburg 7 15 6 41 1216 pm K laruazoo ar 7 50 7 20 12 50 Kalamazoo lv 8 05 7 40 2 25 Allegan 930 350 Grund K-.p.Js ar 10 10 9 50 4 25 Grand Rapids Jv 745 am 10 20 515 D. AM. Crushing.... 755 j 10 37 535 Howard city 917 I 12 05pm <» 59 Big Rapids 10 14 1 101 752 Bee. City 10 50 ! 200 850 Cadißrc ar 12 05pm 315 10 10 Cadillac lv 8 30 1100 Tr \ er.se City ar 5 55 Kalkaska I 527 111 am Mancelona : 6 01 158 Boyne Falls I 7 11 3 22 J’< t -‘key i 17 50 4 15 11 ar b«.r Springs I j 8 25 M a-knrnv I 7 00 GOiNtTsbUbH. _ tc ns— ■ No. 2. No. 4. | No. 6. I No. 8. Mil i aw lv i ' J 9 50pm Hur;-, r Springs \ 6 40am 7 00 Pec.-key • 7 20 105 am Boyne Falls 17 59 1 52 Maiic.i- ux. I 9 07 3 10 K:i ka-kr. 9 44 3 50 Traverse City ‘ 8 25 Cadillac ar ...... ..ill 42 5 45 Cadillac lv 4 00pm 12 05pm 6 10 Ret d City 5 13 1 16 7 45 Big Rapids 5 50 1 50 8 19 Howard city i 6 47 2 46 9 17 I). A M. Crying.... '8 05 4 14 10 37 Grand H ;• ids ar 8 20 4 35 10 55 Grand Rapids lv 7 U)ani 500 1 vOpm Allegan 5 00 1 10 Kahmaz o ar 9 00 7 00 2 52 Kclain.'zco lv 9 05 7 15 257 V. k i rg 935 747 328 St :■ 10 32 8 48 4 40 K nd 11 cillc 11 46 10 05 6 03 F>>rt Wayne ar 1 Oopm 'll 20 7 15 Fort Vayne lv 120 6 15am 12 30am Decatur 210 17 04 125 Portland 310 |8 08 234 Jti'i-e’.’ilr ! 3 37 1 8 34 3 01 W; .. h- -o r ■ 3 56 8 54 3 2:1 Richmond 5 (X) |9 55 14 35 Cmc. nnati I7 40 11 10pm' 735 ! No. 5 leaves Cincinnati and No. 8 leaves Mackinaw City daily, except Saturday. All other trains d ily except Sunday. Woodruff sleeping cars on Nos. 5 and 6 betwe -n Cincinnati and Grand Rapids, and sleeping and chair cars on same trains between Grand Rapids and Petoskey; also Woodruff Bleeping <girs on Nos. 7 aud 8 between Grand Rapids and Mackinaw City. A. B. LEET, Gen’l. Pass. Agent. T; : .UCIiiGINSATI & ST. LOUIS R. R. Time Table—ln Tilled Sept. 4. 1882. i. _■ w.-st. Western | Going East. _u 7 ■ 5 I Division. I 6 I 8 i a. M. p. A. m. Lv. Ar. p. M. p, m. p. m. ' |.i 333 ... .Delphos 1840 1 33| 1 S 3 fi 30 ...Enterprise...' 7 39 12 36; I 2 13 7 06....Wi115hire....1 7 os 12 oi 5 45 5 oi lo 1O ....Marion 4 10 9 07 6 w 7 37/ 6 33 ..... Kokomo 7 45 4 25 Ar. Lv- AM. G- o: s.:’*h. I Dayton x I 9 ; 1 I Division. I 2 I 10 J A. M. P. M. Lv. Ar. p. M. P. M 1 58 2 20 ..Spencerville... 11 47 9 47 7’4 2 51 .. . .M tvion 11 It 9 18 o 3 3:i Celina lo K* a 41 0 51 4 :o Osgood 9 il 7 48 .... T H 4 ■ > . Versailles ... 9 1.3 : 23 ' r 6io .. West Milton.. *lO r. 15 I 8 r. 6 3S‘. ..Harrisburg...: 7 sol 5 56 o lo 6 56,Stillwater June. 7 26 5 33 i 9 25 2 15 Dayton 7 07 5 15 Going West. Frankfort and I Going East. 1 11 7 State Line DirJ Blrl 114 A.M.;a.M.:p M. Lv. Ar.jA. M. P. M. P. M, ..... 8 :tii 701 . Russiaville.. 71 9 234 6 3QIO 10 7 50 ar..Franktort. lv 6 30 1 00 4 1J T A PHILLIPS. T. H. B. BEALE, Gen. Manager. Gen. Pass. Agent. W. S. -MATTHIAS. Ass’t. Gen. Pass. Agent Questions and Answers Concerning Promissory Notes. “Can a note be collected by law that is dated and signed May 30th, or July 4th, or Decemlier 25th, or any other legal holiday. Sunday excluded ?” The validity of a note is not impaired by the fact that it is signed on Sunday, if it is not delivered on that day. There is no general rule of law invalidating commercial paper if executed on the other holidays you mention. “When a note comes due on May 3Gth, or July 4th, or December 25th. or Sunday, and it goes to protest, can the bank hold tl.g maker of the note for the protest fees'?” Notes do not come due on Sunday or other holidays. Whenever the last day of grace falls on a Saturday or other holiday the note becomes due and payable on the preceding day. “If you tender pay for a note on a legal holiday and the money is refused, does it release the maker of the note from paying the same?” The supposition that a man would refuse to take money on a legal holiday is rather absurd. The tender you mention would have to be kept good, and the maker could not escape liability, even if the payee improperly refused to accept payment in the first instance. “If I gave a check dated Sunday, or any other legal holiday, payable to order on a bank where I had money on deposit, and the bank paid the same on presentation, could the bank hold me for the amount?” The bank could hold you for the amount if paid out on your order upon a check dated Sunday. “Should the banks always take notice of the dates on the paper they take, so as to see if it is dated on a legal holiday ?” A bank should take notice of everything on the pajier it receives. “If I should make sale of a piece of land ami execute ti e deed on Sunday or any other legal holiday, if-properly re<7orded, is the deed binding on myself or Kj heirs?” The sale of a piece of land and the executiuu and delivery of a deed therefor on Sunday would lie deemed unlawful in most of the States having statutes providing for the better observance of the Lord’s day.— Neto York Sun. Airs. Cramer, Jennie Cramer’s mother. and her daughter Minnie, will rsmove from Now Haven &ad reside ia Naw i'or k with Edward, her sea.

KITTY’S FKAYWR. The mlßthreesls dyln', the doctors here said ea Och, who’d be a docthor, to bring us our deaths 1 To sit by our beds, with a hand on the head so. A feelin' the pulses an’ counting the breatnai To drive to our doors in a vehicle stately, Outstretchln’ a hand for the fee on the sly, To settle our deaths tor us very complately. Ah’ very contintedly lave us to die. The misthress is dyin'—it is such a pity— The master just worships the ground 'neath hei tread, Bhe’s such a swatecrathur, so smilin’ an pretty— Is there no cross ould woman could go in baz stead? She trates us so kindly, we think it an honor To larn from herself her own ilegant ways. I loved her the minute I set my eyes on her, An’ what will I do when she’s dead, If you plase! 1 bate our fine docther! he ought to be crytn , But smiled as be ran to his carriage and boolc Jist aftber he tould us the darlint was dyin’— Shure, if she’d recover’d, how quare he would look! I know he’s a Janins—the best in the city— But God's above all —even docthors —who knows? I am but a poor little sarvint," said Kitty, * “But even a sarvint can pray, I suppose I" So down on her knees in a whirl of emotion. With anger and grief in a terrible swing, Her Irish tongue praying in utter devotion, in faith that but few to their praying can bring. The p<X)r litte servant—her tears flowing overimplored with a force that my verse can not give, With the zeal of a saint and the glow of a lover, That, in spite of the doctor, the mistress might live. The master sat close by his darling, despair in His stupefied sorrow—just holding her hand— He prayed, to be sure, but no hope has his prayer in; In fact, he was dazed, and could scarce under* stand. Her delicate lips had a painful contraction, Her sensitive eyes seemed sunken and glazed— He knew Ln his heart there could be no reaction. He sat and saw her—in fact he wai A pallor less ghastly —the eyelashes quiver— Life springs to th face in a sudden surpriseGrim death retrognu.es with a sad little shiver— She smiles at the master, her soul in her eyes’

A wonderful hope—is it hope? is it terror? Leaps up in his heart while he watches hii wife— , I Is it life before death? is it fancy’s sweet error> Or is it—or can it be—verily life? Oh, send for the doctor—death hangs on eact minute — They wait for his fiat, as that of a god— Who sagely remarks that there is something in it, Granting leases of life with an autocrat’s nod Joy rings through the house that was silent ii sadness; The master believes that he ne’er felt despair, And Kitty, the servant, laughs out, ’mid hei gladness. To think that they none of them knew of ho prayer. —Good Word». Two Ways. BY MARGARET B. HARVEY. “May I come in. Lillie?" merrily called Cornelia Cary. “I tapped half a dozen times, but you never heard. ” Lillie started, closed her book, and advanced to meet her friend, who stood outside her half-opened door. It was a dainty little retreat, Lillie Wai ter’s own room. Like a fairy bower, verily, all in pure white and baby blue. “Come in, of course, Cornie!” sht exclaimed, greeting the other prettj girl with a kiss. Two “rosebud” maidens they were, with their creamy skins, pink lips, and hair of the shade of a half-opened sulphur-rose. No one had ever been able to decide whether then eyes were black or b ue. Their re semblance to each other was accounted for by the fact that they were distant cousins. Their relationship, however, did not prevent them from being the best of friends. “There!” continued Lillie, “sit down in that lovely chair, which I have just finished upholstering myself. Do you see what it is ?” “Why,” cried Cornelia, “it can't b« possible! Not your papa’s old campchair, covered with patchwork, made from your blue cashmere waist, embroil red with daisies in crewel ?” “It certainly is,” declared Lillie. “And do you know what the white blocks are ? Why, the pieces left from Miss Foster’s opera-cloak.” “And you really did make that cloak, after all?” queried Cornie. “Well, 1 must say, for an amateur dressmaker, you are quite a success. But I hope this venture will be your last.” Lillie looked grave. “No, Cornie,’ she quietly answered, “I’m afraid not.’ “But you go to Swarthmore next month, you know.” “I don’t know,” returned Lillie, “th»t is—l believe I must give that up. ” “Why, what do you mean?” Cornie looked at Lillie in surprise. “I thought you had fully resolved upon it.” “So I had,” was Lillies sad response, “but I have almost changed my mind.’ Lillie’s eyes wandered until thej reached the book, which she haei dropped hastily upon her bed. Cornie followed her glance, and then took uj the volume. “What’s this?” she asked. “Are yoi not too big tc spend your time over the children's Sunday-school libraries?” “Willie brought it home,” said Lillie, absently, setting her lips hard together. “Now, Lillie,” —Cornie’s tone was very vigorous—“will you te 1 me what's got into you ? Has this book anything to do with it ?” “That book,” faltered Lillie, “is about —a boy —who wanted to go to college — but because he was—-the eldest of a large family ” "Well, what?” crisply demanded Cornelia. “He made up his mind,” went on Lillie, “that it was his duty to give it up, and work for the others, and give them a chance. ” “And like a fool he did it!” tartly finished her cousin. “He did,” responded the other; “but not like a fool, Cornie —like the blessed Master.” “Fiddlesticks!” exclaimed Miss Cary. “Did the Master sell His biithright for a mess of pottage ? I don’t believe snob a sacrifice was ever required of anybodv.” “Well,” calmly asserted Lillie. “I believe it is of me.” “Nothing of the kind,” remonstrated Cornie. “Plague take such stories! I believe they do more harm than good. That old ‘ yarn ’ of sacrificing one’s self for the sake of others is worn threadbare. Such unnatural sacrifices are never appreciated, and always work wrong in the end.” “Cornie!” cried poor Lillie, “are we not required to overcome our own selfishness?” She looked bewildered. “Certainly,” assented Cornie, “but selfishness is one thing; a proper regard for one’s self another. Don’t Shakspeare say, ‘ Self-love is not so vile a sin as self-neglecting ? ’” “Yes,” answered Miss Walter, “but think. Here am I, the eldest of a large family. Papa is not well off. I hare saved enough money by teaching and sewing to take me through Swarthmore College. But if I stay at home and continue to sew, and use my money on my brothers and sisters, they can all lie educated; whereas, if I went, as I intended, they might have no advantages.” “Lillie,” suddenly inquired Cornie, “are thev your children?” “No.” “Are you responsible to God for their existence ?” “No.” “Could you ever have anything until you earned it?” “Never.” “Now, then, let me tell you, thev are not one bit better than you are. Your soul is just as precious as any one’s. You are responsible for yourself, not for any one else. No one else cat work out your own development for you; no one else can insure your salvation. I tell you, our individuality is a burden which w« ourselves must beer, end

which we cannot lightly shift off. Those children have the same parents as you had, to support them while they are little; they have just the same chance of earning money and educating themselves as you had. Hoe your own row first, and be sure of your own corn before you stop to other people. ” Miss Cary's earnestness had flushed her face and exhausted her breath. “But I can't be selfish, Cornie,” feebly answered Lillie. “Do you think it wrong to commit suicide?" abruptly asked Cornelia. “Oh!—most assuredly!” “Well, do you think destroying one’s life the ouly way in which to do such a thing?” continued Cornie. “What of deliberately destroying one's mental powers, one's prospects of happiness and usefulness? .Yon would willingly dwart yourself on the merest chance that the others will turn out better than you?” Lillie was silent. “Have you any moral right to do it?” persisted Cornie. “What will you say when you come to stand oetore the Lord, and can only give Him your one talent folded in a napkin, when you might have been able to present at least five talents?” “I will tell Him.” declared Lillie, firmly, “that I bnried my talent it order that I might better do my duty t< others. ” “Yes,” tartly enunciated Cornelia. “‘Lord, I was a female Jesuit! I did evil that good might come!’ ” Miss Walter started. “I didnot think of that,” she ryiirmured. “Well, you’d better think of that,” advised Cornie, “if you don’t I'll tell you how it will be. Your sisters will dress better than you, on your earnings, and look down on you. they’ll marry before you, and do better—that is, provided you marry at all. Your brothers will despise you, for not many boys can stand being pecuniarily helped by a woman, when they might just as well work. No matter how much you do, they’ll only find fault because you don't do more. At last, when you're old and ugly and worn out and poor, you'll have to beg your living among them all, the best way you can. Finally, like one of Mrs. I ivermore’s superfluous women, you’ll be pushed back on the shelf—that is, unless, like some good, oldmaid aunties, you end your days as a child's nurse, in a home of which you ought to have been mistress. “ Y'ou say you don’t want to be selfish. Suppose you make others so? Suppose you do so much for them that they take it as a matter of course. Don’t you see that you will strengthen the selfishness in them, and so d® them harm instead of good? It is all very well to talk of being unselfish, but the fact rem-iins that we cannot get away from ourselves. We must bear our own punishments — why not our own rewards? “Hush, Lillie! I am not done yet. Look at nature all around you. Don’t the squirrel, the ant and the be provide enough for themselves, before they have any to spare? It is instinct, implanted by the Creator. We have the same instinct, but we think it an outcropping of our total depravity, and try to conquer it. The consequence is. we do nobody any good, and ourselves nothing but evil. We end in mental and moral suicide. “Let me tell you what a doctor told me. Do you know where the coronary artery is? It nourish- s th heart, and is the first one given off by the circulatory system. The heart has to supply the whole body; but it feeds itself first, and -with the best and purest blood. Why ? Because it has a great deal of work to do, and needs strength. How could it accomplish anything, if it supplied itself last, and with the feeblest, most impure blood? Will you hive your body better cared for than your soul?

“I tell you this illustrates a most important truth. Yet men sometimes, and women often, set themselves up to be wiser than their Maker. As if He ordained that h ippiness a- d comfort should always l>e wrong, misery and distress right! The hardest task is far more likely to be found out of the line of duty than in it. “I didn’t expect to preach so long a sermon. But I mean it every word. Now, Lillie, take my advice. G > to college, do exactly as you intended. Be strong yourself, first; then it will be time enough for you to think of aiding the weak.” For a few minutes Lillie said nothing. At last she ventured. “But I would like to be really noble." “In the estimation of others,” added Cornelia. “My dear, that’s anotb r form of selfishness, in which you did not know you were indulging. To covet the world's good opinion is, in a certain sense, pitiful, reprehensible. Do right yourself, and never mind what others think of yon. The whole world is often wrong. “I.” continued Miss Cary, “like yon, am the eldest of a large family, in moderate circumstances. I have been ovez the same ground as you, that is whv I am so sure. But I have made up mj mind to goto Vassar, ms I have all along hoped to. Perhaps people will talk about us both, and, if you give up your project, say that you are noble and I am selfish. But wait till the end of ths chapter—then see.” Cornelia took her departure, leaving Lillian in a state of intense bewilderment. But after a short, quick battle with herself she decided to reject hei cousin’s advice and hang out a dressmaker’s sign. For a while, all went well. Work esme so fast, money rolled in so promptly that she had no time to think. Hei three sisters, Adelia, Cora and Laura, were, one after another, taken from the grammar-school, which had been good enough for her, and entered at a fashionable Institute. In the simplicity of her heart, Lillie imagined that they would appreciate their advantages, and show some corresponding degree of thankfulness. Alas! dress, dress, dress, was their constant cry. It took all their sister's spare dollars and odd half hours to elalxirate their stylish costumes. But Jack, her eldest brother, should prepare for the university. He should have a private tutor, even if she had tc do without that seal-skin coat for which she had hoped so long. The coat was sacrificed, the tutor engaged, but Jack would shirk his lessoma “I don’t see why you can’t let a feller alone!” he gruffly txclaimed when remonstrated with. The time for examination drew near; but, one fine day, .Jack was missing. Next they heard that he had shipped before the mast. The tutor, however, had seen Lillie only to admire her. If he had been touched with her devotion to her family, she had, also, with his patience toward Jack. But, when he asked her to leave this life of toil and share his lot, which, however humble, should always be beautified with love—she said, while her bps turned ■white, “I can’t; the children need me.” This was Lillie's only offer. She never entered any society in which she could meet gentlemen, for as years passed < n she had grown so neglectful ot her own appearance that she never owned a suitable drees in which to show herself. The girls grew older, and took their places in the same circles as their school-friends. Next, Addie had a beau. Next, “Lillie, I think you might take that horrid sign down; we don’t want everybody to know that our sister is only" a dressmaser!” Jarties sueoaeded, and then a w«d-

ding. Lovely, ffcury-like dresses of Swiss and satin followed < ne another, all stitched by the faithful fingers of the sister, whose form was growing stooped aud whose hair was turning gray. And when Addie became the wife of a wealthy Judge’s son, Lillie went to church in a black silk whose seams : showed white, and a bonnet three seasons behind the times. And some people wondered wflio that dowdy, oldmaidish looking woman was who sat with the family—possibly a favored servant or humble dependent. In all these years of industry Lillie had 1 lid by about SSOO. Upon this she thought she could place some reliance when old age came. But her father’s house was heavily mortgaged. Sire handed out h-r savings, and never made any more. “If 1 were to die tomorrow,” she bitterly thought, “I Jiaven't a dollar to bury me!” Well, Lillie's story henceforth does not vary much. Her sisters all married wealthy, her younger brothers, thanks ; to her energy, became well established in business. Her parents urew old and feeble, and she alone supported them. When they died she contributed just as much toward their burial as those who “could buy and sell her.” The proceeds of the house, divided, amounted to little. After awhile Jack came back, rich in ships and merchandise, having , succeeded best of them ail, and without her help. When she was past work, she led a tolerated existence for a few years, from one house to another, until, finally, at her own request, her brothers aud sisters clubbed together and made up a sum sufficient to procure her admission to the Old Lubes’ Home—where they frequently forgot to visit her. What of Cornelia C ry all this time? Mell, she went to Vassar, a, -he had intended. They missed her at home, and were sometimes pinched wi hout her, but it didn't hurt them any—she had been pinched, too. They lived and got along very well, until she graduated with honor. And then weren’t they proud of “Our Cornie!” When she came home at last, and spent a few weeks with them, they appreciated her presence, and all, from father down to b iby Eddie, were glad to do something for her. She hadn’t cheapened herself, as they knew her value. Next she received an appointment as professor of mathematics in a Western college, at a salary of $1,500 a year and her board. Then, when she was able, she remembered her family at home, and sent them freely more in one year than poor Lillie could earn in three. Because she respected herself, they respected her and themselves; aud every one of her brothers and sisters studied diligently and turned out well. Mr. Cary was soon relieved from the pressure of all his debts, and had the satisfaction of owning his home before he died. And next, after three years of successful, noble labor, Cornelia married a State Senator, and became a devoted, model wife and mother. She had a beautiful ideal home, and exerted a grand, elevating influence in social, educational and ebureh c rcles. Constantly increasing her loveliness and usefulm ss. she grew younger instead of older, until it could be truthfully said of her, that her last years were her best. One day Cornelia visited her old-time friend at the home. Little was said by either, as they sat, side by side, clasping each other’s hands, their eyes tilled with tears. “Yon see I was right,” whispered Cornie, in a choking voice; “n > one ever thought of calling me selfish. I only lived out my own life, day by day, as the way seemed to open before me. And my-brothers and sisters are guiltless of the sin of ingratitude. I did mv duty and thev did theirs.”

“Lillie, Lillie,” called Cora, “it is half-past six. Tea’s ready.” Lillie sprang to her feet and glanced at the little dock on her mantel-piece. She had thrown herself across the foot of her bed, and slept just one hour. The revulsion of feeling almost made her faint. She sank upon her knees, and exultingly cried, “ Thank God, I am saved!” “Are you coming, Lillie?” asked Cora, outside. “Yes,” answered Lillie, following her sister. “Where’s Willie? Willie, run right down the street and tell Cornie I’m going to Swarthmore.” “Why, she knows it, don’t she?” queried the l>oy, wonderingly. “No matter,” returned Lillie, excitedly. “Go, tell her; she’ll understand what I mean.” — Demorest’s Monthly. Killing a Rattlesnake. A correspondent writes that he was riding in a stage with half a dozen companions, upon a side hill where the bank upon his right was about on the level with the window of the stage. The horses were walking very leisurely, and the passengers were all in a half-drowsy condition, when suddenly there rang out upon the air within six feet of their heads the rattle of a snake. There is nothing, the writer says, very attractive in the looks and name of the rattlesnake; but his war-cry launched upon the air by a score of Jry liard bones at the tip of his tail, sounds like the knell of death, and could hardly be mistaken, even by one who has never heard it before. Every one of us started as though a bomb had exploded in the coach. Each passenger looked in the direction of the sound. There on the parched, verdureless ground was a veteran snake, winding his slow way along. Our blood was at fever heat, aud in a state of uold chills by turns. The driver, with a swift turn wound his reins around the handle of liis break and sprang to the gro’.md. He caught np a piece of a broken branch, with a crotch in the end, and pinned the snake to the ground, about six inches !•:■<■!? of the reptile's head. The snake shook its head and snapped its fangs maliciously. “Come on now, l>oys. Here help me kill him. I will give the rattle to the man who will do it first.” It was remarkable how readily the whole company resisted the temptation to accept the offer. A cry brave we were! exclaiming “No” with a most heroic air. Each man stood nervously on the ground, lifting first one foot and then the other in quick succession, with his eyes fastened upon the dry grass as though it might open aud reveal a score of reptiles to avenge the wrongs of the driver’s captive. “Why don't you take another stick, some of you, and poaud his head ?” cried the impatient driver. Not a man in the brave crow d moved. At length, however, a fat and happy foreigner, traveling with his wife, aud spurred on by the brave dame, did consent to hold the stick by which the driver had the reptile pinned to the earth, while that hero despatched our struggling and venemous enemy. But it was a brave crowd! I was proud to lie one of the heroic men who had exhibited so much self-restraint and valor. The fat man seemed quite selfsatisfied—though from the twinkle in his wife's eye, I imagine she felt that she was more entitled to the rattle that the driver had given him. than he w ould be willing to acknowledge. The Dutch church school in New York city was organized in 1633 with Adam Roelandson at the birch, and has been kept going continuously ever since. The present building was put up in 1860-, and made to look as ancient as possible with Dutch arohitectuxe.

FARM NOTES. Burnt Corn for Fowls.—An occasional meal of corn, burnt on the c >b until each kernel is black, or ns long as it can be burned and have the corn retain its shape, is greedily entan by fowls, and results in a general improvement in their health, and a greater average numlier of eggs is produced. A Hasty Conclusion. —When Mr. Edmund Hersey hears a man proclaim a new departure in agriculture or success, after onlv one or two years trial, it is always evident to him that the speaker has formed a hasty conclusion, which time may prove incorrect. So lie expresses himself in the Massachusetts Ploughman. Shrinkage or Corn. —Corn will shrink from the time it is husked from the field or shock, in the autumn, n well protected cribs, from 20 to 30 per cent, bv spring. That is, 100 bushels will shrink to 70 or 80, according to how drv it was when gathered. Sound corn will shrink 20 per cent., so that 40 cents per bushel as it comes from the field is as good as 50 cents in the spring. Salt f >r Vegetables.—The Michigan Farmer says the plants most benefited by an application of salt are cabbage, ce'ery, asparagus, tomatoes, onions and radishes. Salt on land renders it more friable, as it possesses the property of attracting moisture from the atmosphere. Grasses are most readily affected by salt: it is generally of advant ge to bulbous plants and those with succulent leaves. Science and Agriculture.—George B. Loring, Commissioner of Agriculture, in an address, said: Let our scientific teachers learn to respect the practical knowledge of the farmer, and let the farmer lay aside his jealousy ol the learning of the schools. To this just proper combination of mental forces how would the earth unfold her secrets; how would the fields rejoice under well-directed cultivation; how would the whole animal economy of the farm lie developed and improved; how would the whole business of agriculture be brought into subjection to systematic laws. Without this combination, deprived of this accumulation of facts, science in agriculture becomes powerless; with it, it becomes a most important ally to the farmer; in fact, it is i educed to one mode of practice itself, and meets with the highest success. For, in whatever the farmer does, he is obliged to recognize an influence which the hand of man cannot reach, which no investigation can fathom, no human power guide. Agriculture obeys the laws of nature; science endeavors to ascertain and explain them. Science may attend upon agriculture as a guide and stimulus tc the best exertion; but it is the patient and prudent and experienced farmer who knows what land he needs, what crops he can raise, wh <t fertilizers h« requires, and what lai or he can best apply. It is the union of practice and science which makes farming perfect. SAND FOR PACKING t RUIT.— Hit Kura! A'eui Yorker has the following The citrus men of Los Angeles, Cal., have made a discovery of great value tc Florida. Dry sand is the best packing for oranges and lemons. It must l>t quite dry, and no paper must be used The fruit mn»t touch the sand. Expert ence warrants keeping for five month! at least. The dry sand has absorbing power that apparently takes up all exudations subject to decomposition, the rind being very porous. Naturally the thoughtful mind suggests that, on the same principle, dry sand must have a similar preservative effect on othei fruits, such as pears, plums, nectarines, apples and other smooth-skinned vane ties. Keeping Apples.—A farmer wants to know how to keep a hundred barrels of apples until late in the fall without putting ti em in a barn or out-house, and the Country Gentleman suggests the following method : You may place the barrels of apples on their sides, and leave them in a sheltered an<> shaded place in the orchard, or in any other suitable spot. Place two rails or large Doles on the ground, so as to raise the barrels a few inches above it. Kain will not be likely to injure them, but i‘ will be better to make a temporary roof of boards. There will lie no danger ol their freezing till late in November. If you cannot barrel them, place half a foot of straw on a dry spot of ground, and pile the anoles carefully in a long heap, and cover them with two or three inches of straw. The object of placing them in an out-house, opening to the north, is to s -cure a cool place, a dry floor and smelter from rains. They are to be removed to the cellar or fruit-room before freezing w ather.

Small Grain for Pigs.—Western farmers have bee me so accustomed to making pork from corn that they scarcely know what to do when a corn crop fails. Many farmers hesitate to settle north of the line where large crops of corn are raised, because they think they can not produce pork to a Ivantige. Now no one will denv that corn is a most excellent too t tor fattening hogs, and where it can be cheaply produced it is generally the most economical article that can be employed for that purpose. It is true, however, that pork is economically produced in places where corn can not be ripened, and the farmers there find as much profit in raising beef and mutton. In Great Britain barley is chiefly used far fattening hogs. In Canada all the small gialns except wheat, peas and roots argely take the place of corn. In the New England States a little corn is used in connection with potatoes, apples, pumpkins and mill feed. A variety of the food given to hogs annears to promote health and to produce meat of fine flavor. As prices range this season it is likely that oats will prove to be a cheaper food for hogs in many parts of the West where but little corn is raised. Experiments tried bv several seem to show that two bushels of oats are worth as much as one bushel of corn for making pork. In many parts of the country it is easier to raise two bushels of oats than one bushel of corn. The cost of thrashing the oats is less than that of husking the corn. To produce the best results the oats should be ground be ore they are tea. mey win De reaaily eaten and digested, however, if they are soaked in milk or water. Barley which has been discolored by exposure is an excellent food for pigs. The like is true of rye and peas. Transplanting Trees in Winter. Mr. E W. Cornell, Clinton Corners. N. Y., gives these suggestions al Hint transplanting trees in winter, a useful method when time is a matter of importance, or where the immediate securing of l.rge specimens for the lawn is ••specially desit -d: M hen properly done the holes should, of course, be dug when the ground is not frozen, and the soil placed in a compact heap and covered on the south of the hillock with some coarse litter from the horse-stable, to keep a portion of the soil from freezing, which will give the planter access at anv time during the winter. Sufficient loose soil to pack about the ball of earth will be taken up with the tree. Which will he nearly sufficient of itself to fill the receptacle. and the dressing will l>e just where wanted to spread about the tree, for winter protection and for immediate nourishment in the spring. Experience has taught me that it is highly needful to furnish tome fertilizer for ail transplanted trees, at the time of removal. In balling out trees it ir net advisable to wait until the ground is frozen hard, at it often done, which

greatly increases the labor and expense. It is only necc- -ary to dig a narrow trench about the tree, which may be quite near the trunk; the soil, being damp, will be held by the many fibrous roots from falling into the trench, w hich should be deep enough for cutting down through the horizontal roots, which, with most trees, will require.# depth of from 15 to 20 inches, laving bare the top roots. Having dug about all the trees in like manner, all you have to do is to wait until the ball of earth is frozen, when you have only to chop off the main perpendicular root, and. with the trunk for a lever, two men can readily load upon a stoneboat or sleigh, a tree, with a ball of earth attached as heavy ns a team can haul. When arrived at the place for setting, drive the boat or sleigh upon the heap of soil in such a manner that it will incline toward the pit. ami in a moment you may slide the tree to its appointed place. Tramp some of the soil from under the dressing around the ball of earth: put the litter about it, and the work is done much better than it could be at any other season of the year; for the multitude of fibrous roots in the ball of earth preserve the tree from any check until the larger roots can throw out a colony from the points where they were cut off. There is no necessity of losing one tree in a hundred by this method, while a large tree can be removed with as much safety as a small one, providing the ball of earth attached be correspondingly enlarged. This method is exceedingly favorable for the resetting of large evergreen trees, which otherwise is attended with much danger of loss from the least drying ot the roots. It is a work well adapted to w inter, as it can readily be discontinued

at an inclement casou, to be resumed at any favorable moment. —Prairie Farmer. viiaoß. Ilia the rich oyster dealer who knows how to shell out. Things which are advertised as “cheper than ever,” are ever so cheap. “Will you drop us saline?” asked a man departing from Syracuse. "That depends salt together on circumstances.” was the reply. Teacher: “Feminine of friar?” First boy: “Hasn't any." Teacher: "Next.” Second boy: “Nun.” Teacher; “That's right.” First boy: “That's just what I said." A Tube had rather see two camels wrestle than two men. They kick up more dust than men do, and that’s the Turk's idea of bloody fighting. When you are successful look out for the arrows of envy. "Stones and sticks are flung only at fruit-bearing trees." said a Persian philosopher. Why is it that a little country like France is in proportion to resources so much richer than America ?-— Exchange. Guess it must lie because Frenchmen sell American women bonnets.—Brooklyn Star. Some people think it better to be soft-hearted than hard-hearted, but it doesn’t seem to us there is much choice in the matter. To have either w eakness shows a lack of common sense.— Boston Star. Brown prides himself upon his firmness. He boasts that he never gives way to his feelings. The boys say, however, that his feelings wouldn’t suffer from any giving on his part—not to any extent, you know. — Boston Transcript. He was making a call and they were talking of literature. “The Pilgrim's Progress,” she remarked, “always seems to me painful. Os course yon are familiar with Bunyan?" He said he had one on each foot, and they bothered him a good deal. Mrs. Yerger is one of the most extravagant women in Austin. On the occasion of her husband's birthday she presented him w ith an elegant pocketbook, saying: “Now, my dear, whenever you take out this pocket book think of me.” “You bet I will!" he replied, with a vociferous heartiness that surprised her.— Texas Siftings. It is with tears in onr eyes that we notice that the bean crop has been a failure. These tears, however, are partially dried up when we glean from agricultural friends that the late rains have not seriously injured the pork crop, which looks extremely healthy and free from phylloxera, the young plants being especially vigorous.— San Francisco News-Letter.

Dublin once boasted a magistrate, one Justice O'Malley, whose eloquence and erudition made him the pride and delight of the city. “So, sorr,” he thundered to an old offender who had often escaped what the Judge always spoke of as “the but-end of the law,” “y’arre about to incurr the pinilty of your malefactions. Justice, sorr, may purshue wid a leaden heel, but she smites—” here the quotation eluded him — “she smites” — triumphantly — “she smites wid a cast-oiron toe!” It is related in the Wall Street News that at the last session of the Legislature of a certain State considerably east of Nebraska a certain railroad company sent a pass to each and every member of the body; but one of the passes came back by first mail, accompanied by a letter which explained: “Many thanks for your courtesy, but, as I have made arrangements to lioard here during the session, and shall not have occasion to use the pass. you may send me cash in its stead.” It is said that this display of legislative cheek was rewarded with a S2O bill. “I believe you're a fool, John,” testily exclaimed Mrs. Miggs, as her husband unwittingly presented her the hot end of the potato dish, which she promptly dropped and broke. “Yes,” he added resignedly, that's what the clerk told me when I went to take out my marriage license.” “ I raised seven boys,” said an Arkansaw man “and all but one was killed. Tom was killed by his uncle, Ned was stabbed by Ike, Ike was horned to death by a cow, Jake was blow ed up, Sim was killed by a wild hog, and Nat was flung by a horse and killed.” “What, was your other son's name?" “Lige, and he was as good a boy as ever lived, and smart! That boy could write his name anywhar, and he could read tiffs big show printin'.” “And so the were all killed but Lige.” “Yes,” said the old man with a sorrowful sigh. “And what l>ecame of Lige.” “Why, sir, the governor took a fool notion and wouldn’t pardon him and hewas hung." —Ark. Traveler. A Good Little Boy. Two little Austin schoolboys got into a quarrel, and one of them said tc the other: “If it wasn’t for your ma being such a good woman, I'd tear your shir, all tc pieces.” “You tear my shirt, if you dare!" “I ain't going to tear it, because your ma would have to mend it, and I don’t want to put her to any trouble, because she gave me two cakes the other day." As with some grown-up people, the way to a child’s heart lies through his stomach.— Texan Siftings. Nothing annoys the keeper of a railroad restaurant more than to have one customer ask in a rather loud tone of another: “Have you ever tried plating war-ships with this kind of sandwiches ?” Exquißxz: You are right. Calling she average variety actor “a ham" is tn ontraaeoua slur on bams.

THE STORY-TELLER. • A NocmMTjr Feature In Society. The Plata Stories ami the Dependent Stories. . [From the Chicago Herald.] A funny story, when well told and well timed, form not only the height of e itertainment, but often proves the weightiest argument in the settlement Tis serious matters. A good story-teller is one of the most popular of persona. In society he is the life of the company. Embarrassment disappears before his magic and wall-flowers are put at their ease by him. He can transform s business journey into a pleasure trip and can render ‘even imprisonment enjoyable. It is not necessary to expand upon his power to please. The good story-teller is not so rare but that nearly every one has had his own personal experience enriched by his acquaintance and companionship. Io try to tell what constitutes a good story would be to give the anatomy of wit and humor, and much more beside. A good storv must not only contain one or the other of these, but it must be clothed in a well-nigh perfect word suit, a linguistic glove-fit to the spirit of wit it contains. Anything short of this detracts from the story. The following. which many have doubtless heard, illustrates how a slight change may deaden wit and at the same time ’ give point to a story: An elderly man named Gregory was passing along the street one day and overtook a great, loutish, overgrown boy, who wore a short jacket or roundabout, such as might have been appropriate for his little brother, if he had one. “My friend,” said Mr. Gregory, “it seems to me the coat you wear is a very short one." “It will l>e long enough before I get another one,” the boy replied. The answer struck the oi l gentleman in a funny spot and he just sat down and lauglied. He couldn't get over it. and every little while during the rest of the day he would think of it and burst out laughing. That evening he went to a church sociable which, as such godly diversions are apt to lie, was very dreary. A few of the fathers and mothers in Israel were engaged in propounding sanctimonious conundrums tc their sanctified companions, and appeared to lie at their ease. The young people, however, were far from it. They shifted from one foot to the other, looked at each other in a wistful but don’t-give-it-away manner, and then relapsed into kicking themselves that they did not stay at home or go some where else and enjoy themselves. Comprehending that things were not as lively as they should be. Mr. Gregory thought that he would tell the company about the amusing occurrence of the afternoon, and the minute lie thought of it he burst out laughing: nor did he stop until he got the whole company burning with curiosity, and bail almost convinced some of them that he was crazy. Finally he broke out with: “I want to tell you about it. It is the funniest thing I ever knew. I never laughed so in my life before.” After indulging in another fit of laughter he continued. “This afternoon I was going along the street and I overtook a great overgrown l>oy wearing a jacket, one oi these roundabouts, you know. Well, I said to him; ‘my friend, it seems to me your coat is a very short one,' and what do you suppose he said?” And the old gentleman was struck again with convulsions of extra sevt rity. Recovering himself at last he added. “He said to me—he said, ‘lt. will l>e a long time before I get another one,’ ” and Mr, Gregory entered upon another fit oi laughter even more hearty than before. But he stopped almost immediately No one was laughing or even smiling except in a peculiar way. They evidently saw nothing funny. With his face sobered with a suddenness that was sad, poor Mr. Gregory exclaimed, “It don't sound half as funny as it did, somehow." Soon after he edged out of the door, and ho didn't find out what Mas the matter until after he got home. There is a great deal in the way a story is told. Often one hears an old story told in a manner w hich renders it to him almost new. Some stories read well:others do not. Frequently almost the whole point of a story lies in the acting by which its telling is accom- | panied. It is nevertheless true that most stories w hen told are very much more enjoyable than when road. To tell a story and reveal the point just at the right moment, without obscuring it or foreshadow ing it by unnecessary detail, is a knack which all good storyte’lers do not posess. Some people with the keenest appreciation of a good story are utterly unable to tell one after they have heard it. The writei has in mind a young lady who makes frequent attempts at story-telling, but ' I who almost invariably liegins with the , point of the story. If she attempts to propound a conundrum she is sure to reveal the answer in the statement of it. : She is too self-poMeseed and vivacious to be annoyed at her numerous failures, but with many it is different. They aim perhaps nt the entertainment of a l party of friends. They have heard ~<>me excellent story and try to tell it. ,-n it fills flat—and what can be

itter than a pointless story?—they ,ie m t only embarrassed but are really ; table. Their condition is not unit that of the Irishman who tried to mot a little chipping bird with an old ‘i on Anna musket. He fired. The d with a chirrup or two. flew away < 'inecrued in the foreground, and Pat swiftly and noiselessly laid on his i einti e background. Picking himnp and shaking bis fist at the bird e-.elsimed: “Be jailers! ye wouldn’t • nrruped if ye'd been at this end of v ran.” I’;:, i the enjoyment of hearing a ■ >1 jok< or a st try is added the pleas- < o'. «itne cing the mental struggles i obtuse ] . r-ons to see the point. ■o. re : -a grc.it difference in people as •’ i d.; their abilities to “catch on,” as -t r.-e and forcible expression goes, ’lie. n.<■re honest than bright, always • fuse to laugh until the joke is ex:ined to them. Others know that e joke is there, and try to cover up • ir stupidity in not seeing it by joinng the laugh. Ever .- one knows how much Lincoln a- addicted to story-telling and how ■ointcd manv of his stories were. In his great debates with Stephen A. Douglas he not infrequentlv utterlv destroyed all effect of his able opponent's argument by simply telling a story. During the’ war not a little of Lincoln’s popularity and success wa, due to the happy trait which he possessed of covering a point with a story, u lien pointed stories are used as arguments they are well nigh unanswerable so far as the verdict of a popular I assembly is concerned. The English Royal Family. I Victoria. Queen of Great Britain and I Ireland and Empress of India, v. as born : May 24. 1819; was married February I 10. 1840, to H. B. H. Francis Allert, ■ Prince Consort, who died December 11. 1801. There were nine children : Victoria Adelaide Mary Louisa; Princess Royal, born November 21. 1840; Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, born Noveml>er 9. 1811; Alice Maud Mary, Lorn April 25, 1843; Alfred Ernest Albert, Dake of Edinburg, born August 6,1844; Helena Augusta V ictoria, born Mar 25, 1846; Louise Caroline Alberta, bern i March 18. 1848; Arthur William PatI r;ck Albert, Duke of Connaught, bom May 1,1850; Leopold George Dun- an Albert, Duke of Albany, bora April 7, i 1853; and Baatrica Mary Victoria F»o-

dora, larrn Ap r il 11. LSs.. a' <> v b,, In are living except Alice Maud Mary, late consort of Loui 1> ~ (‘[amt Du!,,. ,f Hesse Darmstadt, who t’A-d Di , c 14, 1878. POCAHONTAS. .The Tree Story oClier Koiuatlc Lite,] Edward Eggleston In the Century. From her first meeting with Smith she became devotedly attached to the English, and rendered the settlers many services. She often secured supplies for them, and indeed seems to have haunted the fort, utterly naked as she was, after the manner of little girls among her people. Who wore no clothes and showed no modesty until they were twelve or thirteen years of age. at which time they put on » deerskin apron, and were very careful > ot to seen without it. Th« agile little barbarian would persuade the English lads to make w heels of themselves by turning upon their hands and feet, whereupon she would follow them, wheelingas they didf»ll through the fort. Her real name was Matoax; but, by order of Powhatan, this was carefully concealed from the w hites, lest by their supernatural enchantments they should work her some harm. M hen Richard NVvftin was sent from Jamestown to apprise the endangered Captain Smith, environed by foes among Powhatan's people, of the death of his deputy. Mr. Scrivener, and his ten eompanim -.by drowning, Pocahontas hid him. misdirected tliose who sought him, and, by extraordinary bribes and maneuvers, brought him safely to Smith, after three days’ travel in the midst of extreme peril. So, also, when Ratcliffe was cut off with thirty men, she saved the lad Spilman, who was then living with Powhatan, and sent him to the Potomacs. But the most touching story of all precedes in order of time the other two. In the same difficult adventure among Powhatan's people in which Captain Smith was engaged when Scrivener was drowned, the teacherous chief had arranged to surprise Smith to supper, and eut off the whole party, when Pocahontas, the “dearest jewel and daughter” of the aged chief, “in that dark night came through the irksome woods” to warm the Captain of Powhatan’s design. Captain Smith offered to repay her kindness with such trinkets as the heart of an Indian maiden delights in; “but, with the tears running down her cheeks, she said she durst not l>e seen to have any, for, if Powhatan should know it, she were but dead; and so she ran away by herself as she came.” In 1613 Pocahontas was among the Potomac Indians. Captain Argali, a man of much shrewdness, and executive force, but infamous for his dishonest practices, happened to be trading in the river at that time. He quickly saw the advantage the English would gain in negotiations w ith Powhatan for the return of the white prisoners held by him, if he could secure so valuable a hostage as the chiefs daughter. With a copper kettle he bribed Japazaws, the chief with whom she was staying, toentice her on board the vessel, where he detained her, much to the sorrow of the daughter of the w ilderness, whose life hitherto had been as free as that of the wild creatures of the woods To Jamestown, where she had frolicked as a child, and whither she had so often cotne ns a friend with food, she was now carried as an enemy and a prisoner. She had refused to rater the town since the departure of Cajrtain Smith. This transaction, not very creditable to the gratitude of the English, accomplished its purpose in causing Powhatan to return the white men held in slavery by- him, with the least useful of the stolen arms. But he still contrived to evade some of the demands of the English, who therefore retained his daughter Until the affair took a new turn. John Rolfe, who seems to have been a widower, became enamored of Pocahontas, now growing to womanhood, and wrote a formal letter to Sir Thomas Dale, proposing to convert her to Christianity and marry her. which pleased the Governor, as tending to promote peace with the Indians, and was likewise acceptable t - Powhatan. The Chief sent an old uncle of Pocahontas and two of her brothers to witness the marriage. This marriage brought about peace during the life of Powhatan, who, on one occasion at least, sent a present of buckskins to his daughter and her husband. A free intermingling of the two races took place, and Englishmen were accustomed to hire Indians to live in their houses and hunt for them. This amity lasted eight vears. In 1616, more than two years after their marriage, Rolfe and Pocahantas went to England w ith Sir Thomas Dale. Powhatan sent some Indians with Ln daughter, one w hom was commissioned to count the number of the English, The arrival of the Lady Rebecca, as Pocahontas was called after her baptism, produced a great sensation. Bhe was received by the king and many distinguished ]>eople, went to see a play, and, by help of her naturally quick wit, bore herself very well. But it became necessary to desist from calling her Hie wife of John Rolfe, for the king ™ very jealous, and it was .:--rionsh debated in the privy council when er. hy marrying the daughter of a foreign potentate without the king's consent. Rolfe had not committed treason.

The climate of London, and perhaps also the uncongenial habits ofcivilnation. affection Pocahontas very unfioorably, and she was taken to Brentford, where Smith, then busy with hi- preparations to sail for N ' Erzlainvisited her. In the successful efl-’rts ° Rolfe and others to win her to the Christian faith and to married". b I(V hail not scrupled to deceive her, I telling her that Captain Smith "j'' I dead, probably because tiiev knew sm would not marry another white man while she believed that great warnor alive. When, therefore, she saw’ the “brave” who had lieen the object of her maidenly admiration, she turned her face away and refused to speak f°r tie ; space of two or three hours. ' I she did, it was to claim the privilege o : calling him father, which Smith gran ' ed only after importunity, afraid, per ! haps, of incurring the king's displeasure. Pocahontas went to Gravesend to I take ship for her return to America. | much against her will, for she had I*’ i come weaned from her savage life ani greatly attached to the English ■' Gravesend she died of small-pox three yfars after her marriage, leaving | son., from whom some of the m”' i prominent Virginia families trace their I d'xcent. Full Precautions Taken. , The Count, upon returning from M I seaside, finds his previously trus. valet in a state of intoxication that fies concealment or apology. , “Confound yon,” says the Count, ter a severe lecture, “have you no se_ of shame—no self-respect? i» u PP ' now that you were to be picked up the street in that condition- , “O, thash all ri’ f I am," replied servant; “don’t you fresh yourse.f me. I always carry your card-case my pocket." There are thirty-two different color’ to sand, and when people speak oi - dy complexions they stand chances out of thirty-two of making mistake. Vmwenos is rigidly P 10 ’ throughout Sweden by order Goranußzat,